And She Was Not An Adventure
by girlinshipwreck
Summary: Clara Hartley is standing in line for her usual morning coffee, when Flynn Carsen skips the queue, changing her life forever. {And The Crown of King Arthur/And The Sword in The Stone, AU}.
1. Never Judge A Book By Its Cover

**Author's Note: **_Videos for this story, including characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel under **girlinashipwreck**_

* * *

><p><strong>Never Judge A Book By Its Cover<strong>

Clara Hartley stood in the queue, _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature_ tucked under her arm, tapping her foot impatiently, shooting swift, barbed glances at the treacherous, ticking clock. The early morning rush at Starbucks was always a nightmare to navigate, and today was no different. No matter how early she arrived to grab her usual Caffè Misto, she was always last in line.

As the queue edged forwards, she flipped open her phone, checking for non-existent text messages. Clara didn't even know how to text, even though she knew how to speak Occitan. Her social life was as extinct as the dinosaurs, but she liked to maintain the pretence she was a party animal. But the closest she ever got to chaos was when _Chaucer's Constance and Accused Queens_ was shelved under the wrong subject. Time ticked slowly on, Clara's foot tapping with it, then miracles of miracles, she was at the front, only for a man wearing a tweed jacket to appear out of nowhere and take her turn.

"Hey!" she protested, stepping forwards.

"Ninjas," he fired over his shoulder at her, "and a Pike Place Roast please. With extra kick to boot," he said to the barista.

"Ninjas what?"

As though in answer to her question, several whip-wielding ninjas stormed Starbucks, led by a woman with choppy, dark hair. Clara experienced a moment of the ridiculous colliding with the sublime. The queue dispersed, everybody heading screaming for the exits, the barista ducking behind the counter, leaving only Clara and the tweed wearing man to face the music.

"Hello," the woman sneered as she advanced on Clara.

"Oh, you're not here for me?" the man said, pointing to himself, sounding confused.

"Not this time, Flynn," the woman said, "though I shouldn't be surprised to see you here."

"I was just getting a coffee," Flynn said, bewildered now.

"Yes, by skipping the queue," Clara retorted despite herself.

"Oh, she's _British_," the woman gasped, clasping a hand over her heart.

"What of it?" Clara tried to say coolly, even though she was quaking inside.

"Your accent is so _cute_," the woman gushed.

"Who the hell are you people!?" Clara snapped, her last nerve snapping at the same time.

"Never mind us," the woman smiled coldly, "what about you, Clara Guinevere Hartley?"

"How do you know my name?" Clara whispered, taking a step back.

"Likes illuminated manuscripts, voltas and Clarice Cliff pottery," the woman continued, as though Clara hadn't spoken. "Ideal man, Indiana Jones. Shame he doesn't do online-dating, huh?"

"What do you want?" Clara asked, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.

"I want your death, little lady," the woman leered, "and I'm going to get it, as of now."

She suddenly lunged forwards, pulling out a dagger, but Clara was quicker, smashing _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature _across the woman's face, knocking her flying. Then Clara was being dragged sideways, the heels of her knee-high boots skittering wildly across the floor as she went. Then she staggered to a halt, only to find herself in the alleyway outside, the sound of their pursuers' pulse-racingly close.

"You're a fast mover," Flynn said, making her swing round, "I'll give you that."

Clara stared at him, realising he'd been the one to haul her out here. "I guess terpsichore has its advantages in the 21st century as well as of the 16th," she snapped.

"You don't exactly look like a pavane kind of person," Flynn observed, his gaze flickering over her red and black tartan mini-skirt and pussy-bow necked blouse.

"I'm going to look dead unless I get the hell out of here!"

"Never judge a book by its cover," Flynn muttered under his breath, before turning to face the brick wall before them. Clara glanced at him, before doing a double-take. Where there had been no door before, there was one now, bright blue with a highly polished letter-box. Flynn rolled his eyes before reaching over and turning the handle.

"After you," Flynn said with an exaggerated bow.

"Where - where are -are they - they?" Clara stuttered, looking behind her instead. "The ninja people, they were right on top of us!"

"I slowed them down," Flynn said, pulling awkwardly at his cravat.

Clara just stared at him.

"Never mind," Flynn sighed, before steering her by the shoulders through the impossible blue door.

_Tell me all about your foreign wars  
>And all about the photographs that line your drawers<br>Cause I know a lot about closing doors  
>But not enough about what opens up yours...<em>


	2. Welcome (Not) To The Library

**Welcome (Not) To The Library **

_A heart is so easy to keep _  
><em>When I think of the curious look in your eyes and impossible<em>  
><em>Oh, only you could really know<em>  
><em>I'll never let a little secret go...<em>

Flynn led the way through a dizzying maze of bookshelves and display cases, Clara half running to keep up with him, her head spinning. Ninjas, magic doors and mysterious strangers; there was only so much madness she could take before she went mad herself. Now she seemed to be somewhere left of the TARDIS and east of Hogwarts, trapped in a library with no apparent limits.

As Clara bypassed what appeared to be a phoenix rising from the ashes, she wondered if she'd actually woken up this morning, and this was all just a dream in her head. Any minute now, her alarm would go off, blaring _Habanera _and she'd reach out to switch it off, blearily anticipating another day at Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro -

"Who is this?" a voice asked pettishly, making Clara glance up in surprise, only to find herself in some sort of library wing filled with Grecian columns and a sweeping oaken staircase leading to yet another upper floor.

Flynn just waved his hand impatiently at Clara as he sidestepped behind an antique desk piled high with papers, before bending down and beginning to pull out drawer after drawer. The woman who had spoken stepped forwards, eyes narrowing behind her tortoiseshell glasses. Clara tried for a friendly smile but it came out more as a grimace.

"And who might you be?" the woman asked, setting down her tea-cup.

"She's Guinevere," Flynn interrupted abruptly, chucking a stuffed parrot over his shoulder.

"I'm not" -

Before Clara could finish her sentence, a sword was at her throat, apparently being wielded by an invisible hand.

"No, Cal!" Flynn shouted, rushing forwards. "She's not that Guinevere!"

The sword quivered threateningly.

"My name is Clara actually," Clara said in a strangled voice. "Guinevere is just my middle name."

For a long moment the sword remained where it was, its blade almost drawing blood, then it zoomed away, disappearing through a set of double doors structured out of clouded glass and ornate ironwork. Clara stared at them, seeing that part of the pattern consisted of a sword on each side, almost like an emblem of sorts, before slowly raising her hand to her neck.

"Wow, that was rather exciting," the woman said witheringly.

"I'm having an Anne Boleyn moment," Clara whispered, slumping against the side of Flynn's desk.

"Don't touch me!" the desk protested.

Clara jerked upwards, staring at the desk in shock.

"Don't worry about him," Flynn said, trying on a bonnet, "he has abandonment issues."

"After Winston bequeathed him to the Library, he was never the same again," the woman confided in an undertone.

"Ah, old Churchie," another voice said from behind Clara, "bit of a gab, but made an excellent bacon sandwich."

Clara slowly turned around, only to see an old man with a suit and comb-over in the full-length mirror. Her reflection crossed oddly with his. Heart pounding, she turned around again, but there was nobody behind her. He really was in the mirror, not outside it. Head spinning at super-speed, she leaned round the mirror, trying to find the trick, only to find none.

"Hey, buy a guy a drink first," the old man said, sounding put out.

Clara took a step back.

"You're a hologram," she said, pointing to him.

"I'm a ghost, dear," he said not unkindly.

Clara just nodded, before backing away.

"You alright?" the woman asked, exchanging a glance with the ghost.

"No, I'm not," Clara said with great difficulty, before crossing her arms over her chest, almost trying to hold herself together.

"Some ninjas tried to kill her in Starbucks," Flynn said flippantly, ripping off his false beard.

"I guess that's a typical day in the office for you then," Clara fired back.

"Some zombie Samurai tried to slice me into salami last Saturday," Flynn said, clapping his hands together, making all the drawers slam shut in synchronization.

"Ease up on the alliteration, big boy," Clara scoffed.

Flynn just ignored her, throwing himself down into the depths of a battered looking leather armchair instead. To Clara's relief, it didn't speak.

"So what are you going to do with her, Guinevere, I mean?" the woman then asked Flynn, picking up her teacup again.

"It's Clar" -

- "She'll have to stay here," Flynn said abruptly, steepling his long fingers together, "for the time being."

"I'm not" -

- "Too many have died already," Flynn said darkly, making Clara pale.

"Who has die" -

- "She'll keep you company I suppose," the woman said thoughtfully, sipping her Earl Grey.

"I don't need company," Flynn said, irritated, "but you'll have to phone up her employer, say she had a family emergency or something" -

- "I don't have any fami" -

- "We don't want anybody asking any awkward questions," the ghost said, nodding wisely.

"She has a life to go back to," Flynn said, getting to his feet. "But until then..."

"Until what?" Clara asked suspiciously, feeling like the ground had been swept out from under her feet.

Flynn turned to face Clara. "Welcome to the Library," he said, not sounding the slightest bit welcoming.


	3. The Pages Of Purgatory

**The Pages Of Purgatory **

_And finding answers _  
><em>Is forgetting all of the questions we called home<em>  
><em>Passing the graves of the unknown... <em>

Flynn dusted down his tweed jacket with one hand, clutching a croissant with the other. He'd left Clara in the library wing, before disappearing to Dijon, feeling like he needed a trip to France to clear his head. He knew he was being a cur towards Clara, but it was better that way. The less she knew about the Library, the better. There was no need for her life to become entangled with the Library's. Once he'd sorted out the fankle she'd found herself in, he'd send her on her merry way.

As he strode towards the staircase, he glanced over the balustrade, only to hesitate at the sight of Clara sitting in the middle of the floor below, arms wrapped around her head. Flynn took a step back, feeling the first stirrings of guilt. But what could he do? She wanted answers, and he couldn't give her them. Some of the answers he didn't even know himself. He really had just stepped out for a coffee that morning, needing his usual caffeine hit to set him up for the day. He'd had no intentions of becoming saddled with some mini-skirted stranger, but now he was, and he just had to make the best of a bad situation.

Whether Clara would was a whole different question, one Flynn was also unable to answer.

* * *

><p>"Dr. Clara Guinevere Hartley," Judson said, straightening a button on his suit, "twenty seven years old, IQ of 290, muliti-lingual, single, no dependants, waitress at Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro, used to teach Medieval and Renaissance Studies before the funding to her department was cut. Mother died five years ago, has no other known family. Has a complex about King Arthur bordering on slight obsession."<p>

"Thank you for that succinct summary of our resident interloper," Flynn said curtly as he polished Excalibur, the sword almost purring in appreciation.

"Pretty as a picture too," Judson said under his non-existent breath.

"Her face is so wide she probably needs three mirrors to see it," Flynn snapped, "and she's got a funny nose."

Judson just raised his eyebrows.

"And she's miniscule," Flynn continued, "like Polly Pocket come to life."

"Maybe that's her mystery," Judson said. "She's an inanimate object trying to find her place in the world, when it's really on a toy-store shelf."

"I am not some child's play-thing!" Clara retorted from the doorway.

"Oh, hello Clara," Judson said jovially, "didn't see you there."

"Of course you wouldn't," she snapped, "I'm miniscule, remember?"

"I have to wash my hair," Judson said, before fading into oblivion again.

"Why are you here?" Flynn said, examining his reflection in Excalibur's now gleaming surface.

"Some ninjas tried to assassinate me, remember?" Clara said, stepping into the room.

"No, I know that," Flynn sighed, "I mean why are you here? Like _here?_"

"A roll of loo paper tried to strangle me," Clara snapped again.

"So would you if someone tried to wipe their backside with your face," Flynn snapped back.

"That's its job though!" Clara argued, feeling like she'd gone mad.

"You keep telling yourself that," Flynn muttered, resuming his polishing.

"I just want to go home," Clara cried, stamping her foot, "I don't want to be here, with talking furniture and angry loo paper and dead people living in mirrors! _This is not my life!_"

"Never said it was."

"Take me home," Clara almost pleaded. "I don't care how, whether it's by magic carpet or tornado, just take me back to my apartment."

"Your apartment is no longer standing," Flynn said coldly, "it was blown up this morning, soon after I brought you here."

Clara stared at him, all the blood draining from her face.

"The authorities are saying it's a gas explosion," Flynn said darkly, "but we know better."

"There is no we."

"Never said there was."

"Would you stop saying that!"

"Try and stop me," Flynn beamed.

"I. Hate. _You_."

Clara followed Flynn through the office doorway, resisting the urge to give him a good kick up his padded posterior.

"Why am I here?" she repeated, taking a savage satisfaction in making him scowl.

"I don't know."

"Well, why were these... these _ninjas_ trying to kill me?" Clara asked with some difficulty. "Why was my apartment blown up?"

"I don't know!"

"Where am I, then?" Clara demanded. "What exactly is the Library?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not!?"

"Because it's a secret!" Flynn yelled, whirling on her.

"It's a bit late in the day for that," Clara scoffed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He just shook his head at her, before tugging down a tweed sleeve.

"What's with the magic tricks?" Clara then asked, nibbling at her nail. "Are those actually real or is that just wishful thinking on my part?"

"You'll sleep here," Flynn said, sidestepping the question as he pointed to an uncomfortable looking couch in the corner.

Clara just stared at him.

"That woman with the dagger knew you," Clara said suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. "How?"

"Our paths have crossed a few times," Flynn admitted reluctantly.

"What, like romantically?" Clara said, perking up. "Is she your insane ex?"

"Don't be so absurd," Flynn scoffed this time.

"What, she's your arch-enemy then?" Clara breathed, her dark eyes widening dramatically.

Flynn rolled his eyes.

"So where do you sleep?" Clara then asked, switching tack.

"Up in the belfry with the other bats."

"The Twilight Saga tweed-style," Clara said smartly.

"Edward Cullen with elbow patches."

"Bella Swan with brains."

"She had brains," Flynn protested.

"Show me them, then."

"Umm," Flynn said, pretending to rummage through his pockets, "they're here, somewhere..."

"So where do you sleep, big boy?" Clara asked again, making him glance up at her.

"I usually sleep here," Flynn then admitted uneasily, "but I'll find somewhere else to kip."

"Don't you have a house to go back to?"

"This is my home," Flynn said, gesturing to the high vaulted ceiling.

At this, Clara turned her back on him, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Everything you require is here," Flynn said formally, trying to hide his discomfort at her distress under a false facade, "all the necessary facilities needed to support life" -

- "Fine, there's a bathroom," Clara snapped, whirling around, "but what about food and clothes and deodorants and - and Twitter!?"

"The Library will provide," Flynn intoned, before turning on his heel and leaving her.

* * *

><p>"You have got to be kidding," Clara whispered, picking up the voluminous nightgown caked with dust. She had wanted a pair of pyjamas, not a shroud. Setting it back down on the couch, she leaned against the oak-panelled wall, ignoring its protests about personal space, burying her face in her hands. Her whole existence had been wiped out as though it had never existed, trapping her here in the pages of purgatory.<p>

"Here," Flynn said, making Clara start violently, "this will do the trick." To her disbelief, he handed her a cream puff.

"What's that for?" she said incredulously. "And you should knock by the way," she added, annoyed.

"For your tears," Flynn said in confusion, "and why should I knock on my own door?"

Clara rammed the cream puff in his face, suddenly losing her rag.

"Get out!" she screamed, shoving him hard in the chest. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

"Hey!" Flynn shouted, batting her hands aside, face dripping pastry. "_Hey!_"

"GET OUT!"

Flynn got out.


	4. The Librarian's Assistant

**The Librarian's Assistant**

Clara pushed the hair out of her eyes, stomach rumbling painfully. She'd slept in her clothes on the floor, leaving the shroud where it lay. When she'd tried to turn in for the night, the couch had thrown her off, a bit like a bucking bronco. The ground had seemed a safer option, even though she'd half expected it to crack open and dispose of her into Dante's Inferno or something. Nothing would surprise her anymore. The brand new toothbrush she'd tried to use had suddenly sprouted fangs, the toothpaste doing the same. As for the hairbrush...

She shuddered at the memory of it opening up its beady eyes, before getting unsteadily to her feet. As she did so, the door burst open, Flynn bearing a tray of food, a dress slung over his arm. She did a double-take at the sight of the flower-pot on his head. Unperturbed by her raised eyebrow, he set the tray down on the desk, before chucking the dress at her, Clara having to dive like a goal-keeper to catch it.

"All items of hosiery, undergarments and such can be found in the bathroom," Flynn said pompously, "and that includes toiletries and fripperies for the average female."

"Your bathroom hates me," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "and so does your couch."

"I shall have a word with the bathroom," Flynn said loftily, straightening his bow-tie, "and as for the couch, she's just having separation issues, that's all."

"I'm having issues full-stop!" Clara seethed as Flynn strode into the bathroom, disappearing through its doorway. Shaking her head to herself, she turned the dress over in her hands, raising both eyebrows now at the blue and white polka-dot pattern of the fabric. But the rough feel of it between her fingers made her accept once and for all this really was happening to her, that it wasn't a dream or somebody's piece of fan-fiction. She really was trapped in a labyrinth of a library with a mad-man at its helm.

Flynn strode back out of the bathroom, looking triumphant, his victorious expression sitting at odds with the flower-pot now tilted over one eye. He clapped his hands together before breaking into a break-dancing routine which morphed into a speeded up Scotch reel, the sight making Clara take a step back. She was heavily into her Tudor dancing, but when he then started doing the cha-cha, before segueing into some sort of odd side-step shuffle, she knew where her love of dance ended, usually before the men in white coats came bursting through the doors.

"Are you done?" she asked uneasily as he started doing the Charleston.

"I am, but the curse isn't," he said, panting slightly now with the exertion.

"Curse?"

"I was cursed before I came in here," he explained, doing the Can-Can with admirable ease, "to dance myself to death."

"You were cursed?" Clara said slowly, not sure if she was hearing things.

"By a crone in Budapest."

Clara just stared at him before suddenly slapping him hard across the face. He reeled back, his hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock. Clara crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to one side. "Something to say, big boy?" she said pertly.

"You just hit me!"

"But you're not dancing anymore, are you?"

Flynn looked down at his feet, his eyes widening even further. "_Oh_," he breathed.

"Oh indeed," Clara said.

* * *

><p>Clara moved between the bookshelves, the heels of her ballet flats soundlessly crossing the floor. After cleaning herself up in the now well-behaved bathroom, tying her hair up in a high pony-tail and donning the dress Flynn had brought her, the bathroom providing shoes and everything else, she'd tucked into the slightly bizarre breakfast Flynn had laid out for her, before going exploring to no avail.<p>

She'd been in the Library for hours now, wandering its aisles almost forlornly. Any volumes she'd attempted to peruse had evaded her grasp, door handles she'd tried to turn remaining resolutely locked. The Library didn't want her here, and neither did its Librarian. Flynn had nipped off to Nice, or so he said, leaving her to her own lonely devices. She'd tried to seek out the ghost in the mirror, but the glass had remained empty of everything but her reflection.

Clara leaned her head against a display case, ignoring the protests of the artefacts inside. She was a pragmatic kind of person, but this kind of situation required something more than fortitude -

Somebody tapped her shoulder, making her whirl around, expecting to see Flynn, only to see the sword from the day before, floating in front of her. She stared at it, heart in her throat, remembering the coldness of its blade against her skin. But it just continued to hover, almost giving her the impression it was studying her.

"Cal?" she whispered, the cogs of her mind turning...

The sword quivered.

"Cal... Cal..." Clara murmured to herself, before it clicked into place. "_Excalibur?_" she breathed almost reverently, her eyes widening with wonder. Without thinking, she reached out to the sword, almost like she would take a hand, but the sword shot off like a startled cat, making her crash backwards into the display case.

"Do you mind?" a nasally voice complained. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

"Sorry," Clara hastily said to the display case before quickly high-tailing it back to Flynn's office.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Flynn said, surprised to see Clara loitering in the library wing. Judson had been keeping an eye on her for him, and had said she'd been the office all afternoon, alternating between pacing the ground and pulling files off the shelves, flinging them at the walls when the information inside went blank. He knew that she'd been wandering the Library, but beyond annoying her, it had kept her safe, isolating itself away from her curious fingers.<p>

"Why on earth do you have some sort of shrine dedicated to me?" Clara demanded as she strode towards him, arms crossed over her chest. "Like I'm some kind of crime scene you're sitting vigil at!"

Flynn stared at her blankly.

"I'm talking about that, dumbo!" she shrieked, waving her hand at the various boards erected around the room, all emblazoned with hundreds of pictures of her.

Flynn did a double-take, before remembering. "I'm trying to figure out why these people want to kill you," he said awkwardly, pulling at his bow-tie, "but I seem to have got a bit carried away with myself."

"More like you've gone completely overboard."

Flynn just nodded, his brow furrowing thoughtfully, his attention pleasantly drifting back to the evening he'd spent in the arms of Marlene Dietrich, time-travelling at its best...

"Well, have you figured out the answer yet?" Clara then asked, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Not yet," Flynn snapped, his memories of Marlene becoming dust, "I'm just getting started for chrissake!"

"Maybe if you stopped taking foreign holidays every five minutes, I'd be out of here and out of your hair by now," Clara snapped back.

"The Library doesn't revolve around you, Clara," Flynn said, advancing on her. "There are other things that require my attention other than some silly little murder attempt on your life."

"Can't you delegate the work to someone else, then?" Clara replied, unperturbed.

"There is no-one else," Flynn said, voice cracking slightly, "there's just me."

Clara frowned, before stepping forwards, staring up at his face, studying it, noting the lines around his eyes for the first time. Flynn ran his hand across his face, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Up close and without her high-heeled boots, she was even smaller than he remembered. But despite this, there was something indomitable about her that sat at odds with her pretty face and petite figure. He remembered the way she'd smashed that book across Lamia's face, the action almost instinctive. Clara was not all she seemed, there was a storm brewing below that still surface.

"You must need an assistant, then," she then said slowly.

Flynn shook his head. "No," he said, backing away from her, "no, no, _no._"

"I'm a genius," Clara said without egotism, "and I've worked in libraries before. Maybe not magic ones, but a book's a book, right?"

"I said, no!"

"It would just be temporary," Clara argued, advancing on him this time, "until you figured out whatever it is you have to figure out."

"I work alone" -

- "And if I have to stay here," Clara continued, ignoring him, "I want to earn my keep, whether bed and board is included, I don't care."

"I said, I work alone, Clara" -

- "I get this is your thing, that you're the Librarian or whatever it is you call yourself," Clara said, "that you're the main man around here, nobody else. But I'm here too, whether you like it or not, and you can't keep me like I'm a pet canary. I have to do something, Flynn, anything - within reason of course," she added hastily.

"No" -

- "Even if it's just typing or filing, I'll do it. Just give me a goddamn job, Flynn!" she snapped, stamping her foot.

"Fine!" Flynn shouted, flinging his hands up in the air. "Go and file something!"

"Why don't you do it yourself!?" Clara shouted back, forgetting her whole argument.

"I already file evil under history," Flynn said loftily. "It's my MO."

"Your modus operandi is to irritate the hell out of me," Clara retorted. "But I'll go and file something like you said."

Flynn just watched in disbelief as she then turned on her heel and left the library wing, slamming the door behind her. Somehow, in some way, he'd just hired Clara Hartley as his assistant.

_Oh my my_  
><em> Oh my stars<em>  
><em> Everything you see is ours<em>  
><em> Or it could be if you would try...<em>


	5. Through The Looking Glass

**Through The Looking Glass**

Clara's heels clicked across the floor in a way that was becoming uncomfortably familiar to Flynn. She'd been living in the Library for around three weeks now, the two of them falling into an uneasy routine, with an even more uneasy rapport springing up between them. They largely left each other alone, Clara completing the menial tasks Flynn laid out for her, a list that usually involved cleaning the display cases or dusting the bookshelves, interspersed with random bouts of filing and typing that didn't really fill any purpose beyond keeping Clara occupied.

But Flynn kept up the pretence Clara was contributing towards her keep, because it kept her happy and out of his hair, leaving him to get on with his duties as the Librarian. The Library was lending to the lie, creating enough dust and disorder to ensure Clara didn't have the time to cause any more trouble. The Library cleaned itself, it didn't require Clara's help, but while she was here, it let its standards slip a little. In return, it provided her with all the necessary facilities needed for the average female, Flynn haphazardly providing the rest.

As Clara ran a cloth along the lowest bookshelf, Flynn set down the tome he'd been perusing, his brow furrowing slightly as he watched her work. She seemed content enough on the surface, adapting to the bizarre turn her life had taken with apparent ease, but he knew that appearances were deceptive. Clara's character might have been of a pragmatic, practical bent, but whenever he checked on her in the night, he would hear her crying, her sobs echoing around his office. Sometimes when she thought he couldn't see, she'd lean her forehead against a bookshelf, or her eyes would widen at something he'd say or do, her face taking on a shellshocked expression that she'd swiftly try to conceal.

Sensing his stare, Clara glanced up, her eye catching his. To his surprise, she smiled at him, a small, uncertain smile, but a smile nonetheless. But Flynn didn't smile back, and Clara's smile faded, her lower lip trembling slightly. She turned her back on him, pretending to be engrossed in wiping a mark off the oak wood. Flynn picked up his book again, trying and failing to focus on the page in front of him, the words dancing wildly before his eyes.

"She still here?" Charlene boomed as she strode through the doors, making Flynn start violently.

"Yes, I'm still here," Clara snapped over her shoulder.

"Hello, Clara," Charlene said coldly.

Clara just smiled sarcastically at Charlene before turning her attention back to the bookshelf.

"I didn't know you needed a housemaid," Charlene said to Flynn, nodding at Judson who bowed in his mirror to her.

"I don't need anyone," Flynn retorted, slamming his book down on the desk, ignoring its loud _Ow! _"But until I work out why the Serpent Brotherhood wants to kill Clara, she has to stay here. It's not safe for her to leave the Library until I do so, and I'm no nearer to working out the answer to that particular puzzle than I was three weeks ago."

"Have they gone to ground?" Charlene asked.

"I think so," Flynn said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, "whatever it is they're doing, I don't think they intended for me to stumble across their sordid little scheme."

Clara glanced over her shoulder at Flynn again, her jaw tightening slightly. After a lot of emotional blackmail, Flynn had explained a very little about the woman with the dagger; that her name was Lamia and she was connected to an organization called the Serpent Brotherhood. The old Clara would have laughed in his face at this, but not now, not after what had happened, what she had seen.

Other than that, he'd refused to tell her anything else, stating the less she knew, the better. But both of them knew that Clara couldn't live in a state of ignorance forever, cleaning shelves and making cups of tea; that sooner or later reality would return to claim her. Yet she had nowhere else to go. No matter where she went, she wouldn't be safe. She was a marked woman.

"You know, maybe this is life's way of forcing you to let somebody into that icy fortress you call a heart," Charlene said quietly, startling Flynn again, her words making Clara freeze. "Hell, maybe it's the Library itself who made your path cross with Clara's that day. Out of all the Starbucks' that damn door could have led to, it just had to be the one she was in."

"Don't be ridicolous," Flynn said from between gritted teeth.

"She's here, isn't she?" Charlene pointed out, gesturing impatiently to the still frozen Clara. "She's _here_ in the Library with _you_, Flynn. Is the message getting through yet or do I have to hit you over the head with the Magna Carta again?"

Flynn just ignored her by sticking his fingers into his ears and humming the National Anthem very loudly.

"The flood-gates are opening, Flynn Carsen," Charlene said ominously, heading for the doors, "they're opening whether you like it or not."

* * *

><p>"Lamia's accent," Clara said suddenly, making Flynn look up from the scroll he was studying, "it wasn't real. I mean, it wasn't her voice."<p>

"She's actually British or English or whatever you call it," Flynn said tiredly, "she was just playing games with you, pretending to be American. Her French accent is very popular with her male victims though."

"Oh."

"It's what Lamia likes to do best," Flynn continued, getting to his feet, "toying with her food before eating it."

Clara just passed her cloth from one hand to the next, not sure what to say. Charlene's words that morning had shaken her up, but she hadn't the courage to broach the subject with Flynn, sensing she would be crossing a line with him. Why he was so determined to shut the world out, she didn't know, and she supposed it was none of her business either, but it didn't stop her from fervently wondering why he was that way.

"Don't wait up for me," Flynn said, shrugging on his tweed jacket, "and don't forget about the Christmas pudding in the oven. That'll do for your supper. I'll just run down to Marrakech for a bite to eat."

Clara just nodded, making Flynn glance sharply at her. She had that shellshocked look on her face again, the sight of her so making something inside him snap. Before he realised what he was doing, he took her face between his hands, fiercely kissing her brow, making her look even more shellshocked. There was no passion in his kiss, it was chaste, platonic, but it still shocked Clara with its suddenness.

"You're going to be alright," Flynn said quietly. And then he was gone, as though he'd never been there.

_Till I start wondering, I start wondering_  
><em>Till I start wondering, I start wondering<em>  
><em>If you are ever here at all...<em>

* * *

><p>Clara paced the ground, heart thudding in her chest at the sight of the row of doors in front of her. It was now or never. If she was here for a reason, it was up to her to find out why. Maybe Charlene was right. Maybe it wasn't co-incidence after all that Clara's path had crossed with Flynn's that day. Maybe there was a bigger plan at play. Clara was clever, but she wasn't stupid. She knew her limits and she knew saving the world wasn't her forte. But it didn't mean she didn't have a part to play. Taking a deep breath, she selected a door at random, not knowing if it would take her to where Flynn had gone. But she had to try, and she turned the handle, expecting resistance, only to find it opening with ease under her fingers.<p>

She stepped through the door, feeling like Alice on the threshold of Wonderland, only for the world to suddenly shrink around her, forcing her onto all fours. For a moment it felt like the air was being squeezed out of her lungs, and then the invisible hand released its grip on her, making her slump forwards, her breath coming in huge rasps. As it dimly dawned on her she was in a tunnel of sorts, she also realized with a faint exultation the Library had allowed her here, that it hadn't barred its doors to her like it usually did.

Spurred on by this thought, she started to crawl forwards, following the sound of voices, the darkness dulling her senses whilst sharpening others. As she moved, there was a loud tearing noise, the tight white lace dress she'd donned that morning now seemingly doomed for the dustbin -

The ground gave way beneath her, the palms of her hands hitting air for a moment. Then she was tumbling forwards, almost head over heels, her body slamming into merciless concrete. Spluttering, she sat up, pushing the hair out of her face, only to find herself looking up at a furious Flynn. Behind him stood three people, one a tall woman with blonde hair scraped back into a bun, wearing some sort of black military uniform and holding a gun aimed in Clara's direction; the others two men in leather jackets, their hands raised in apparent surrender.

"What are you doing here, Clara!?" Flynn hissed, helping her to her feet.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Clara countered.

- "Who the hell are you people?" the blonde woman demanded, her voice shaking slightly, even as her grip on the gun remained steady.

"Hello again, Fraulein," Flynn said formally, bowing to her, hiding his anger as he did so. "I'm nobody and she's nobody," he said, gesturing to Clara.

"We're Mr. and Mrs. Nobody," Clara said hastily, following his lead, only for Flynn to shoot her a funny look.

"If you're nobody, what on earth is the Opal of..." the blonde asked, her voice trailing off in confusion, making Clara realise she was continuing an earlier conversation, one her sudden entrance had interrupted.

"The Opal of Sumara," Flynn said loftily, dusting his suit down, "Teutonic knights recovered it from Jerusalem during the Third Crusade, but it was stolen by the Nazi Occult Division and stored here, forgotten after the war..." He suddenly sped off towards a dark corner, Clara standing there helplessly as he rummaged amongst the rubbish there. Her gaze met the blonde woman's, but there was no solidarity to be found in that quarter.

"So much for sisterhood," Clara muttered, turning her back on her.

"_A-ha!_" Flynn shouted, ripping off a dust-sheet, revealing some sort of sarcophagus. "It's still here! Locked in its original magical safe!"

"And this is good?" Clara asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It summons demons," Flynn replied as he pulled out a stethoscope from the inside of his tweed jacket, "but it doesn't control them."

"One little opal does that?" Clara squeaked, exchanging another glance with the blonde, who still had her gun trained on her, and not Flynn funnily enough.

"Hence why it's so valuable to the wrong people," Flynn said, studying the sarcophagus with an expert eye, "and dangerous to the right ones."

"Dangerous?" one of the men in the leather jackets asked nervously.

"Valuable?" the other asked slyly.

"And that illustrates my argument perfectly," Flynn said smartly.

Clara glanced at the men, wondering what their deal was, barely registering the box at their feet. The sly one raised his eyebrows suggestively at her, the other ignoring her very existence. She turned away from them in disgust, Flynn now going off at a tangent about something else altogether, Clara catching the phrases _careless _and _homicidal_. Despite the situation, she sensed Flynn was showing off, but she wasn't fool enough to believe it was for her benefit.

"Another common pair," Flynn said to himself, donning the stethoscope and pulling something small out of his pocket.

"Pair of...?" the blonde asked, shifting her gun from Clara to the men instead.

"Of adjectives," Flynn explained, "they travel in pairs. Unlike me and Mrs. Nobody here," he added, shooting Clara a dirty look, before hitting the sarcophagus with a tuning fork, a tinging sound ringing round the room.

"What?" the blonde woman asked, bewildered now.

"Do try and keep up," Flynn sighed, waving the tuning fork over different corners of the sarcophagus before suddenly slamming the furthest edge with the palm of his hand, making a cloud of orange dust suddenly explode in mid-air like a mini Hiroshima. Clara leapt backwards like a scalded cat, the blonde standing her ground, the men reeling sideways, arms flung over their face.

"Oh," Flynn said, staring at the sarcophagus.

"Oh what?" Clara asked, stepping forwards.

"I've apparently set off a trap," Flynn said slowly, "which I have..." he pulled out a fob-watch from inside his waist-coat, stretching its silver chain to almost breaking point as he studied its frontis-piece, "about three minutes to disarm."

Clara just gawped at him.

"What happens if you don't disarm this device?" the blonde asked quickly as Flynn removed the stethoscope from around his neck.

"The Opal transforms every corpse within a hundred mile radius into flesh-eating zombies," he said, rifling through his satchel, "which seems unnecessarily dramatic, but there you go" -

- "Well, stop it!" Clara cried. "Don't just stand there talking about it! Do something for chrissake!"

"I'm trying to in case you haven't noticed!" Flynn flung back, sounding like a truculent teenager.

"I don't see you doing it," Clara snapped, stomping over to him. "So bloody sort that sarcophagus out or else!"

"Or else what?" Flynn taunted. "You'll slap me again? Or slam a cream puff in my face like last time?"

"Save it for later, guys!" the blonde shouted, sounding nervous. "Time's ticking!"

"This is a _very _complex alpha-numeric code," Flynn retorted, "it requires finesse and tender loving care!"

"So do I!" Clara bellowed. "But I'm not going to turn everybody into the living dead, so get to it, big boy!"

Flynn sighed heavily before bending over the sarcophagus, humming _Greensleeves _very loudly, almost as though he was trying to drown something out. It was at that moment Clara realised there was something beeping. "Latin Bible verses," Flynn muttered to himself, "which I can't decipher because I can't concentrate due to that beeping nuclear bomb in the corner over there!" he shouted, making Clara jump violently.

The blonde looked at the men, who looked down at their feet, the box lying on the ground between them suddenly becoming the centre of attention. Then the blonde suddenly struck the men, scattering them sideways as she lunged for the box, snatching it up. But Clara was too busy watching Flynn's dirt-smeared face contort in a variety of grotesque shapes to do much else. One second he looked like he smelt something terrible, the next it looked like he was taking his last breath. It was oddly fascinating to watch, capturing Clara's attention completely -

Suddenly bullets were whizzing through the air, making Clara duck down, throwing her arms across her head. But Flynn remained oblivious to the fire-fight, throwing back his head before sneezing very loudly.

"Bless you!" Clara called before she could stop herself.

"Say it in Swahili and I'll love you forever!" Flynn called back, whipping out a measuring tape.

"Akubariki!"

"Now Flynn loves you forever!" Flynn boomed, manically measuring the sarcophagus from all angles.

"Save it for the honeymoon, Romeo!" the blonde hollered.

"The moon really is made of honey, now you come to mention it" -

- "Never mind that!" the blonde cried. "What the hell do I do with this thing!? How do I defuse it!?"

"Of course!" Flynn beamed. "It's the stations of the cross!"

"For the bomb?" Clara hazarded, lowering her arms.

"For the bomb?" the blonde echoed hopefully.

"No, no, _no_," Flynn said, "it's for the death-trap. For the bomb, it's actually much easier."

"How?" the blonde demanded, firing another round.

"Is it black cylinder or round like a soccer ball?"

"Cylinder!" the blonde said, before leaping backwards as a bullet hit the box, sparking.

"Pop open the side casing," Flynn instructed, unperturbed. "See that blue wire?"

"Yes!"

"Don't touch the blue wire," Flynn said reprovingly, making Clara roll her eyes.

"Arrggh!" the blonde screeched. "Start with don't, _start with don't!_"

Flynn just ignored her, mumbling about the number eight and crosses again, confusing Clara.

"There are fourteen," the blonde said, bewildered, confusing Clara even further.

"Only eight in the Bible," Flynn corrected her, "John is the fourth Gospel condemned for execution, Book 19, Verse 17, Latin numerals 4, 1, 9, 1, 6, 1, 7," he counted, operating the sarcophagus like some kind of switchboard. Then there was a sharp hiss as something rose out of the depths of the sarcophagus, a sort of small cylinder decorated with a swirling sideways pattern, reminding Clara of a Grecian pillar gone wrong. The sight of it made Flynn cheer like a cheerleader, Clara wrapping her arms around her head again, realising with a sickening jolt just how out of her depth she was at this moment.

"Now we're fifty per cent less likely to die," Flynn said in a theatrical aside to the cowering Clara.

Before she could say anything, one of the men rushed out from behind a pillar, firing his rifle at the blonde, roaring like a lion as he ran. But the blonde kept her nerve, shooting him in the shoulder, bringing him down.

"What were you saying?" Clara squeaked, hastily crawling over to the sarcophagus.

"Ssh, Clara," Flynn reproved, "I'm trying to remember the words to the Macarena."

"The Macarena!?" Clara hissed, now clinging unceremoniously to his leg.

"Final disarm, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6," Flynn intoned.

"Yours or mine?" the blonde asked nervously.

Flynn thought about it for a moment. "Improbably, both," he said, his eyes meeting hers. Then in almost synchronization, they turned to their respective death-traps, saying at the same time, _2, 2, 5, 6, 6, _Clara holding her breath until the beeping stopped, another sharp hiss filling the air, Flynn snatching up the Opal that glowed amongst the smoke like a star in a winter sky.

"Give me the bomb," a voice said, making the blonde whirl around, only to find herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"3, 1," Flynn said coolly, tucking the Opal inside his tweed jacket.

"3, 1?" the blonde echoed, raising her hands, the man reaching for the bomb.

"There are 30 rounds in an AK-47 magazine," Flynn said like he had all the time in the world, "and 1 in the chamber. I heard him fire 31 shots, but I didn't hear him reload."

The man pulled the trigger, but it just clicked uselessly, the blonde suddenly attacking him, bringing him down, Flynn looking unmoved by the sight of such extreme violence. He glanced down at Clara's frightened face, something shifting behind his gaze she couldn't decipher.

"When's the wedding?" he asked suddenly, startling her.

"What wedding?" she asked, getting unsteadily to her feet.

"Yours, I presume," he said, gesturing to her," what with that dress and everything."

"Shut up," Clara said, punching him on the arm.

"What wedding?" the blonde asked, turning around, only to find an empty space where the strangers had been standing.


	6. To Learn & To Live

**Author's Note: **_A trailer for this story can be found under **and she was not an adventure **on Youtube._

* * *

><p><strong>To Learn &amp; To Live<strong>

_You fell in love but I did not_  
><em>But in the end you're all I've got<em>  
><em>When it's all played out<em>  
><em>When the truth is known<em>  
><em>You have to learn to live alone...<em>

Clara sat behind Flynn's desk, his tweed jacket draped across her shoulders. With some trepidation, she watched Flynn tear a strip out of the sullen Charlene and silent Library, berating the former for putting ideas in Clara's head, and the latter for letting her carry them out. His angry reaction to her escapade had surprised Clara. She'd been bracing herself for the inevitable storm she'd been sure would strike, but he was treating her like she was the wronged one, rather than the one that had done the wrong.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled up at the vaulted ceiling. "She could have died!"

The Library remained silent, still.

"Whatever point you're trying to prove," Flynn continued, not caring, "you can stop trying to prove it as of this moment!"

"The point is already proven, Flynn," Charlene pointed out with maddening calmness. "Clara's here, she came back alive."

"Because I was there," Flynn snarled, whirling on Charlene. "I'm the only reason she made it back in one piece."

"And that blonde woman," Clara interjected, "she helped a bit as well."

Flynn just glared at her.

"You can't claim all the laurels of glory for yourself," Clara said reasonably.

"I don't need anyone!" Flynn hollered up at the ceiling, ignoring her. "I'm doing just fine on my own, thank you very much!"

Charlene just rolled her eyes, before stalking out of the library wing, Judson wringing his hands nervously in the mirror. Clara caught the old man's eye, something in his face making her heart twist in her chest. She'd really set the cat amongst the pigeons by doing what she'd done, but she couldn't shake off the feeling she'd did the right thing. Alright, clinging to Flynn's leg in fear was hardly her finest hour, but she had to start somewhere. Stepping through a magic door into the unknown had been the first step in the right direction, even if it had led to a ruined dress and severe humiliation.

"I really think you should calm down now," Clara said coldly as Judson faded into thin air, "or you'll end up in that mirror, big boy."

"Just listen to her!" Flynn shouted at the wall. "She's talking like a Librarian!"

Clara just gawped at him.

"Don't you see?" Flynn said suddenly, stooping down and grabbing the arm-rests of her chair, his face inches from hers. "The Library's in your soul now. It won't let you go. It won't let you _live_."

Clara's face paled.

"See the way you were out there today?" Flynn said, straightening up. "I was like that once. Naive. Raw. Inexperienced. I nearly died more times than you had hot dinners. And I promised myself never again."

"Never again what?"

"Never again would I let the Library do that to someone else," Flynn whispered, "never again would I let it hurl somebody into the depths of hell with nothing but a book between them and the flames."

"How?"

"I _learned_. I _lived_."

"And you don't think I can do that as well?" Clara said, standing up, insulted.

"I don't want that for you," Flynn said quietly, looming over her, "I want you to leave the Library - to live your life as if the Library never existed. But until then, you have to stay here, and you have to stay out of the Library's sight. It let you through that door for a reason, but it's never going to happen again, do you hear me? Do you hear me?" he shouted up at the ceiling again.

The Library heard, but it didn't listen.


	7. The Contrariness Of Being

**The Contrariness Of Being**

_You are consistent, I am lackaday_  
><em>You are sufficient, I'm in disarray<em>  
><em>You give me light when all is dark and lonely<em>  
><em>You're my concession, I am contrary<em>

_You are exception, I am more the rule_  
><em>You are discretion, I am more the fool<em>  
><em>You show me patience, I take advantage<em>  
><em>An' leave you lost an' on your own an' lonely<em>  
><em>You are forever, I'll come crashin' down<em>

_You throw me the line when I'm clutchin' straws and_  
><em>You lift me up when I am down an' lonely<em>  
><em>You're my concession, I am contrary...<em>

Clara tugged down her high-necked blouse, the buttons straining against her stomach. Thanks to Flynn's crazy ideas about cooking, she'd started to put on the pounds, not enough to make her hit the scales and start a diet, but enough to set alarm bells ringing. Unless she got a grip, she'd end up bigger than the Library itself. With the amount of walking and cleaning she did every day, she thought she'd be losing weight, not gaining it. But like dreams, living in the Library went by contraries.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked, juggling the Opal with an orange plucked out of his pocket.

"I've put on weight," Clara said uneasily.

"So what?" Flynn shrugged. "It suits you."

Clara looked at him, surprised. Then she jumped violently as the phone rang. Flynn didn't even glance at it. As it rang on, Clara looked at him questioningly.

"What?" he asked, annoyed now.

"Well, aren't you going to answer it?" she said.

Flynn just shrugged his shoulders again.

Clara rolled her eyes before gingerly picking up the phone, just in case it came alive in her hands. She still hadn't recovered from her experience with the hairbrush. But to her relief it remained as innocuous as ever.

"Hello?" she asked, voice uncharacteristically timid.

"Hello," a man replied, his tone urgent, "I must speak to Flynn Carsen."

"Umm," Clara said, startled slightly at his forthrightness.

"I must speak with the Librarian," the man reiterated, his voice becoming desperate.

Clara glanced helplessly at Flynn, but he just mimed slitting his throat, indicating for her to cut the call off, "Mr. Carsen isn't here," Clara said, biting her lip. "He's at Minneapolis attending a Library Scientist Seminar."

Flynn applauded the inventiveness of her lie, nearly dropping the Opal and orange in the process.

"Flynn Carsen is not in Minneapolis," the man said, "he was in Berlin recovering the Opal of Sumara."

Clara frowned at the phone, Flynn nonplussed as he carefully placed the Opal on a display mount.

"Who is this?" the man demanded. "Are you his wife?"

"Clara Carsen?" Clara said before she could stop herself. "It does have quite the ring to it."

Flynn tutted, snatching the phone out of her hand. "Bonjour?" he shouted down the line, Clara leaning in to listen.

"Is that you?" the man said in disbelief. "Is this Flynn Carsen? The Librarian?"

"It's me," Flynn admitted reluctantly, throwing the orange up into the air before catching it again. "How do you know who I am?"

"You won't remember me," the man said, sounding out of breath now, like he'd been running, "I'm outside, I'm coming in!"

"How do you know about the Library?" Flynn said, shoving the orange into a confused Clara's hands as he suddenly took off between the bookshelves, Clara hastily putting the orange down on the table, before following him, struggling to keep up.

"I'll explain everything in greater detail," the man wheezed, "just tell me where to meet you."

"What's going on!?" Clara demanded, grabbing Flynn by the arm, forcing him to face her.

"Just stay here," he ordered, ramming the phone into her arms. "I'll be right back."


	8. Danger, Death & Dodos

**Danger, Death & Dodos**

"What, he was murdered?" Clara said in disbelief. "That man I was just speaking to on the phone, he's actually _dead_?"

"As a dodo," Flynn said abruptly, shoving a sheet of paper inside his pocket.

"What's that?" Clara asked, gesturing to it.

"That's nothing," Flynn snapped. "Keep your little snub nose out of my business, Clara."

"Am I ever going to leave the Library?" Clara said suddenly, startling him. "Or am I going live out the rest of my days here, dying a lonely old woman surrounded by scrolls, the Library burying me in a tomb built from books, Excalibur throwing a party celebrating my demise, singing sweet, sweet revenge?"

Flynn just stared at her, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "That man who was murdered, that's not going to be you," he then said, startling her this time, "you're going to leave the Library, and you're going to live. So don't worry about the future, it'll be fine."

"That's precisely what I'm worried about," Clara scoffed. "You being the janitor of my life."

"I'm the Librarian, not the Janitor," Flynn said pompously, tying his cravat around his head Rambo-Style, "what could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything maybe?"

He just patted her patronizingly on the head before skipping off, disappearing out of sight behind the book-shelves. Clara watched him go, her heart sinking in her chest. It was starting to dawn on her that Flynn wasn't trying as hard as he made out he was on getting her back home. She wasn't as high up on his list of priorities as she'd like to be. Time was ticking on, and she was still here, the stuff about the Serpent Brotherhood going to ground starting to sound like an excuse for him not to snoop around.

But after the debacle of yesterday, she couldn't help but unwillingly see the situation from his perspective. There had been a flesh-eating zombie resurrecting Opal for him to deal with, on top of the nuclear bomb and everything else. Clara's problems rather paled into insignificance beside such potential catastrophes. If Flynn was dealing with these kinds of disasters on a daily basis, well it was really no wonder she was at the bottom of his to-do list. And now a man had been murdered practically on the Library's doorstep, another situation Flynn had to sort out. At this rate, she was never going to get out of the Library, not unless she took matters into her own hands.

As she headed for the library wing, she bit her lip, wondering if she should chance another door. Whatever Flynn said to the contrary, the Library seemed to have some sort of purpose for her after all. In all the time she'd been within its walls, it had been unfriendly and distant, barring doors to her and removing books from her hands. Now it was steering her to somewhere, but where Clara didn't know. But the Library seemed to realise as Clara did, that she couldn't live here forever, cleaning its shelves and filing documents that turned blank whenever she touched them. She had to move on, and the Library was possibly pointing her in the right direction.

Clara stood in front of the double doors that led to the library wing, hesitating before tracing the metal framework of the sword with the tip of her finger. Despite her best efforts, Excalibur remained as elusive as ever, hovering just out of reach, always skittering off like a scalded cat. She thought it wanted to be friendly, but her middle name was getting in the way, forcing the sword to remain fervently loyal to its original owner. Shaking her head slightly, she pushed the doors open, thankful to find the library wing empty, the mirror only reflecting the room.

She had been in the library wing last night, arguing with Flynn over what she'd done, admitting that yes she had got in his way, but no she had been right to do it. She'd been angry, Flynn merely upset. After a fifteen minute long fierce fight, he'd actually gotten down on bended knee and begged her to never pull another stunt like that again. Something in his face had made her give the lie, promising she wouldn't, with her fingers crossed behind her back. But Flynn had accepted her at face value, instantly becoming bizarrely happy again. And she knew it was because she was back in her box again, Clara the Cleaner, the girl he left behind while he went off saving the world, someone he would soon be shot of.

"Hello, Clara," Judson said from behind her, making her turn around.

"Hey," Clara said tiredly, before sitting down on the edge of Flynn's desk, ignoring its protests.

"How are you holding up?"

"Like a fortress made of pillows," Clara replied, "ready to collapse at any time."

"You and Flynn friends again though?"

"If anything, he's more my enemy."

"Don't be so dramatic," Judson tutted, shaking his head. "Flynn's anything but that."

"Well, what is he then? Flynn doesn't exactly do friendship," Clara pointed out.

"Did he propose to you last night?" Judson asked, his eyes twinkling as he changed tack.

Clara rolled her eyes. "As if," she scoffed. "It would be the Flynn Carsen Freakshow if I married him."

"Little and Large."

"Precisely."

"You had your fingers crossed behind your back," Judson said, shaking his own finger at her.

"I'm not just here to be Flynn's errand boy, Judson," Clara said earnestly, "I think I'm here for a reason."

Judson just shrugged his shoulders, reminding Clara of Flynn for a moment, before realising he must have picked up the gesture from Judson.

"Flynn pays me in ancient gold drachmas and Christmas puddings," Clara snapped, starting to lose her temper. "If that's not a reason to seek a higher calling, I don't know what is."

"The drachmas will turn to dust as soon as you leave the Library," Judson said gently. "And as for the Christmas puddings, well... Flynn has a fondness for them."

Clara just scoffed.

"I'll have a word with him about your wages," Judson said hastily, not liking the look in her dark eyes.

Clara just nodded before getting up from the desk, ignoring its sigh of relief, and heading instead towards the boards Flynn had set up in the wake of the man's murder. None of his scribbles and symbols made any sense to her, and the papers pinned up remained resolutely blank. Of her own pictures, there were none. Flynn seemed to be focusing solely on the man's murder and not the murder attempt made on her own life. As Clara stared at his messy handwriting, she wondered uneasily if there was a connection between the killing and her, if the Serpent Brotherhood were involved in some way. The factor that linked both cases was Flynn, as though he were the catalyst which drew danger and death to whoever crossed his path, including Clara.

_Floating neither up or down_  
><em>I wonder when I'll hit the ground<em>  
><em>Will the earth beneath my body shake<em>  
><em>And cast your sleeping heart awake<em>  
><em>Could it tremble stars from moonlit skies<em>  
><em>Could it drag a tear from your cold eyes<em>  
><em>I live on the right side, I sleep in the left<em>  
><em>That's why everything's got to be love or death<em>_..._


	9. The Changing Of The Guardian

**The Changing Of The Guardian**

_You say you wander your own land__  
><em>_But when I think about it__  
><em>_I don't see how you can__  
><em>_You're aching, you're breaking__  
><em>_And I can see the pain in your eyes__  
><em>_Says everybody's changing__  
><em>_And I don't know why..._ _  
><em>

Clara flicked her feather duster over Flynn's broad shoulders, silently wondering at how they were always dusty, rather like the bookshelves he so frequently haunted. Then he was off again, flashing his foil for all it was worth, Excalibur going full pelt as well. Clara watched the mock sword-fight until the mis-matched pair disappeared out of sight behind some display cases, before resuming her dusting, jaw tightening. She worked her way down the length of the aisle, her mind unpleasantly elsewhere, only to stop short at the sight of _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature_.

For a long time Clara stared at it, remembering the weight of it in her hands as she smashed it across Lamia's face. She had forgotten all about the book, assuming it lost in the ensuing chaos. Yet here it was, almost as if it was waiting for her. And the longer she looked at it, the more the uncomfortable feeling grew there was a message somewhere in its sudden reappearance.

She set down her feather duster and picked the book up instead, flicking thoughtfully through its pages. On that day, she'd been scared but still in control. She'd fought back instead of clinging to Flynn's leg. Was this what the Library was trying to tell her? That there was a spark of potential in her after all? She put the book back down, carefully closing it. She wasn't that Clara anymore, the one who mocked the idea of magic, who only imagined the impossible.

She'd acted like a petulant child that day, throwing hissy fit after hissy at Flynn as though everything was his fault. But he'd tried to help her in his own heartless way, and she'd just flung it back in his face, along with the cream puff. So it was no wonder the Library had acted in the way it had towards her. But now things were different. Clara had changed and so had the Library's attitude towards her. Whether it was because Clara was no longer fighting her fate, but almost embracing it instead, Clara didn't know.

Picking up her feather duster again, she set off once more, brandishing it at the bookshelves, following the sound of Flynn's voice and the clanging of metal. As she rounded a corner, she suddenly froze. To her disbelief, the blonde woman from Berlin was in the Library, standing beside Charlene in front of a lift entrance Clara had never seen before. Just at that point, Flynn pirouetted into view, waving his foil like a fairy wand, Excalibur echoing his moves.

"You're getting sloppy, Cal!" Flynn taunted, doing another twirl.

The blonde woman stepped forwards, tilting her head to the side in disbelief. Clara stepped forwards as well, stashing her feather duster behind some books as she moved. But before she could do anything else, Excalibur suddenly sprung forwards, aiming right for the blonde's jugular, stopping short of slicing her head off.

"Don't move!" Clara cried, holding her hands out in front of her. "Don't do anything! Don't even breathe!"

"She's here to help, you stupid sword!" Charlene shouted, dashing down the steps, clutching a manila folder to her chest.

But the blonde woman didn't listen. Instead, she tried to grab the handle of the sword, Clara crying out in alarm, Flynn barging past her as he rushed towards them, his face filled with rage.

"Don't touch him!" Flynn bellowed, making the blonde woman freeze. "He doesn't like being touched!"

The blonde woman just stared at him in disbelief, the sword quivering dangerously, its blade almost drawing blood now.

"When Excalibur gets angry, he gets _really _angry," Flynn said coldly, "and wounds caused by Excalibur never heal. They're _magic_."

"Flynn," Clara said, coming up the side of him, "Cal's going to cut her head off, so maybe you should something other than nag, hmmm?"

"I don't nag," Flynn protested.

"Just do something, please?" Clara said, hopping from one foot to the next.

"Cal, go on patrol," Flynn ordered, "I'll meet you in Ancient Egypt."

The sword flew off, the blonde woman slumping against a shelf in relief, only to leap back as it cursed her in Bavarian. Flynn just stared at her, his brow furrowing, Clara stepping in between them, sensing a storm starting.

"Umm, what are you doing here?" Clara asked the blonde.

But the blonde just ignored her, still staring at the shelf in shock.

Flynn rolled his eyes. "What_ is _she doing here?" Flynn asked Charlene abruptly, ripping the cravat off his head as he did so.

"Colonel Eve Baird, meet Flynn Carsen, the _Librarian_," Charlene said, looking smug. "Oh, and this is Clara," she added as an afterthought, "she's our... cleaner."

Eve just cast Clara an almost contemptuous look, all her attention focusing on Flynn instead, her eyes narrowing as they met his. "We've... we've met," Eve said, stuttering slightly despite herself. "That's... that's _Excalibur_, yeah?"

But nobody answered her, silence falling instead. Clara shifted uncomfortably on the spot, her eye being caught by the crisp white envelope in Eve's hand. Seeing her looking at it, Flynn glanced at it as well, only to do a double-take. Without any warning, he snatched it from Eve's fingers, making her leap backwards like a scalded cat. Clara was about to ask him what it was, but he mimed zipping his lips, shaking his head for good measure. Clara clamped her mouth shut, slightly put out.

As Flynn then tore open the letter, sniffing its paper like a bloodhound, making Charlene roll her eyes, Clara glanced at Eve, who was now staring at the direction Cal had taken off in, her face curious, eyes wide with almost wonder. Clara bit her lip, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. She didn't know if it was Eve's good looks or commanding air, but there was something about her that was setting Clara on edge, making her feel inferior and helpless in comparison. Back in Berlin, Clara had done nothing but hinder, whilst Eve had all but saved the day. Now she was here, making Clara want to go and hide in a cupboard somewhere.

"You'd end up in Narnia," Flynn said, startling Clara out of her reverie.

"How" -

- "Only when you think about cupboards, Clara," Flynn said, unperturbed.

"Never mind that," Eve said almost imperiously, stepping in front of Clara, "you call Excalibur... _Cal?_"

"We're friends, best friends, _besties _really," Flynn said, almost squeeing like a fangirl.

Eve just looked at him like he was something nasty her shoe had just stood on. But again, Flynn just ignored her, barging past her as he crossed the floor to Charlene, brandishing the letter at her.

"Why would you send this to her?" he demanded, Clara flinching slightly at the force of his voice.

"I don't send the invitations, the _Library _does," Charlene said pettishly. "The Library sends the invitations" -

- "Alright, the Library sends the invitations!" Clara snapped, flinging her hands up in the air. "We get the point!"

"You're just jealous you never got one," Charlene retorted. "You're not part of the party."

"What party?" Eve asked, bewildered now.

"There is no party," Flynn said, tying his cravat, "but there's been a mistake, and I think you should go, so good-bye, and don't come back."

Without another word, he grabbed Clara's hand and dragged her off between the book-shelves, leaving Eve standing on the steps, looking like an idiot. "Don't tell me what to do, Carsen!" Eve then hollered, setting off after them.

"Oh, you are _perfect!_" Charlene said, almost weeping with joy.

* * *

><p>"Why is she here?" Clara gasped as Flynn hauled her along.<p>

"She's been chosen as my new Guardian," he said, not even out of breath.

"Your what?"

"Does as exactly as it says on the tin," Flynn spat. "She guards me."

"From what though?"

"From the bad guys, Clara, the bogey men, the monsters that hide under your bed," Flynn snapped, "but I don't need a Guardian. Do you hear that?" he shouted up at the ceiling. "I don't need her! I'm fine!"

"Well, I need an answer," Eve said, stepping in front of them, halting them in their tracks.

"This is my answer," Flynn said smartly, letting go of Clara's hand before taking off again.

"Walking away quickly is not an answer!" Eve protested, following him, Clara trailing after her, feeling like a third wheel.

"How about this?" Flynn said, before closing the doors to the library wing on her face.

"For God's sake!" Eve exploded, making to kick the doors open, only for Clara to grab her arm, halting her.

"Don't do that," Clara said nervously. "You'll damage them."

"I'll damage him for talking to me like that," Eve said dangerously.

"No, you won't," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You'll have to get through me first."

"What, are you his Guardian now?"

"No, but violence isn't the answer."

"It's always the answer."

Clara just shook her head, before turning and going into the library wing, Eve hard on her heels, only to stop, stunned by the vastness of the library wing, the sweeping staircase and the soaring Grecian columns. Clara perched on the edge of Flynn's desk, ignoring its complaints, half wishing Eve would just leave. But the blonde strode forwards, shaking her head as though to clear it, going over to where Flynn was checking his cravat in the mirror.

"If you won't deal with me, direct me to one of the other librarians," Eve demanded, crossing her arms over her chest à la Clara.

"There are no other librarians," Clara said quietly.

"I'm not talking to you, you're just a cleaner," Eve said, flapping a hand at her.

"She's not a cleaner," Flynn snapped, whirling around, "she's Clara."

"I don't care what she is! Just direct me to someone who isn't you or her!"

"There are no other Librarians," Flynn reiterated, "there's only ever one Librarian and that's me. When I die, someone else will take my place. So good-day and good-bye."

Eve stared at him, confused. To Clara's own confusion, the blank canvas that stood behind Eve suddenly became a portrait of Judson. She stared at it as Eve continued to stare at Flynn, her head turning as he strode towards where Clara was sitting.

"Was Judson the Librarian before you?" Clara suddenly asked him, gesturing to the painting.

Flynn looked at her, and then he looked at the painting, before looking at Clara again. "What, you can see it, the portrait I mean?" he said, sounding nervous all of a sudden.

Clara nodded.

"Why shouldn't she see it?" Eve asked, stepping forwards.

"What, you can see it too?" Flynn said, turning to her.

Eve nodded as well, looking at him as though he was mad, which he was.

"Was Judson a Librarian too?" Clara repeated, sliding off the edge of his desk.

"Judson, no," Flynn said, shaking his head, "he was more than that, he was... He found me. He... he trained me. He was there for me when... when my mother... when my mother..." Clara started towards him, only for Flynn to turn away from her. "He died five years ago," he said abruptly, making Clara retreat to the desk again. "That's all you need to know."

"I'm sorry," Clara said quietly, wishing she hadn't said anything.

"You should be," Flynn said cruelly. "I said no more questions, no more noseying. And what do you do at the slightest encouragement? You start sticking that snubby hooter of yours into my business!"

"Hey, don't talk to the girl like that," Eve interrupted, striding forwards. "She was just asking about your goddamn painting."

"It's Judson, not a goddamn painting!"

"I'm sorry for your loss," Eve said smartly, "but it doesn't give you the right to talk to her or me like we're pieces of crap, alright?"

"He's with us in spirit," Flynn said, changing the subject.

"That's nice," Eve said, sounding like she thought the opposite.

"No, I literally am here in spirit," Judson said from the depths of the mirror, making Eve whirl around, pulling out her gun as she did so.

"Hey!" Clara protested, rushing forwards. "Drop the gun!"

"It's alright, Clara," Judson reassured her. "The most she can do is break the mirror." He turned to Eve again. "Nice reflexes though," he said appreciatively, "you'll make a good Guardian."

"You're dead!?" Eve said in disbelief.

"It's easier than it looks," Judson said.

"Judson, what exactly is a Guardian?" Clara said curiously, stepping in front of the shell-shocked Eve.

"It's like Flynn said," Judson said not a little impatiently, "a Guardian protects the Librarian. A bit like a bodyguard. You see a life of fighting evil cults and monsters" -

- "Librarians tend to die - often," Flynn said, cutting across him. "Sometimes even more than once."

"Flynn's survived for ten years," Judson said, "longer than anyone. And most of it without a Guardian."

Clara stood there, Judson's words suddenly making several things fall into place. She turned to face Flynn, her brow furrowing.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" Clara said. "Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

Flynn turned away from her, his shoulders hunching. Eve lowered her gun, taking a step back from the mirror, still staring at it in disbelief.

"Like Charlene said, the flood-gates are opening," Judson said, "things are changing."

"Nothing's changed or changing," Flynn snapped as he whirled around.

"Being alone," Judson said pointedly to Clara, "has changed him."

"Everything's changed," Clara said slowly, "and it's still changing. Even me."

_So little time__  
><em>_Try to understand that I'm__  
><em>_Trying to make a move just to stay in the game__  
><em>_I try to stay awake and remember my name__  
><em>_But everybody's changing__  
><em>_And I don't feel the same..._


	10. Many Are Called, Four Are Chosen

**Many Are Called, Four Are Chosen **

"This is too much," Eve said as Clara handed her a cup of Earl Grey.

"What, the tea?" Clara said, surprised.

"No, all this!" Eve exclaimed, wildly gesturing up at the vaulted ceiling. "Magic is _real? _A building sent me an envelope? I mean, come on!"

"You're only getting a taster of the madness," Clara said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, "I've got ninjas after me."

"Ninjas?"

Clara nodded.

"It's not just that though, the magic, the sentient building, the... the _ninjas_," Eve said, warming to her theme, "I already have a job. I hunt terrorists. I took an oath to protect innocent people" -

- "To be a Guardian," Clara said, cutting across her. "It's just the same thing, isn't it?"

"There's only ever one Guardian in the whole world, Eve Baird," Judson said from behind them, making them turn around, "and the Library thinks it should be you."

"DO YOU MIND?" Flynn boomed from behind one of the boards. "I'm trying to solve a murder here."

Judson just shook his head at Clara, before fading into oblivion, making Eve splutter Earl Grey all over herself. Clara handed her a cloth before going over to where Flynn was, careful to keep a distance from him. Ever since she'd sat Eve down, making her a cup of tea, he'd become flamboyantly tetchy, casting Clara crippling glances designed to make her feel guilty over betraying him. But Flynn had a short memory. He hadn't wanted her here either, yet now he was expecting her to side with him against Eve, helping him expel her from the Library. But the Library had invited Eve here, so he didn't have a leg to stand on, least of all with Clara.

"Trying to solve a murder, hmm?" Clara said, raising an eyebrow. "How about a murder attempt?"

"What, you think I can't handle a homicide?" Flynn retorted.

"I'm thinking you're running before you can walk," Clara said, "which means by my book you're heading for a fall."

"Clarify, Clara."

"You can't even work out why these ninjas were trying to kill me," Clara clarified, "so what makes you think you can solve a murder?"

"What, the one in the foyer upstairs?" Eve asked as she came over to them.

"Yes," Flynn said curtly, "and good-bye!"

"So you're saying this Doctor Jonas Sheer" -

- "Shaieeeeerrrrr" -

- "Professor of Archaeology, with five PHDs was killed on your doorstep and you don't have a single lead?" Eve finished, her face disparaging.

"He has a lot of leads," Clara said, turning away, "but he doesn't know which one to follow. Before you came in, he was eeny, meeny, miny, moing it."

"Hey!" Flynn protested. "I have a plethora of possibilities! A cornucopia of clues! I just don't see how they all connect!"

"What painting is that?" Eve asked, pointing to a print-out pinned to the board.

"_The Crown of King Arthur_," Clara said before she could stop herself.

Flynn just looked at her as if she'd suggested said they should burn down the Library with him locked inside.

"What!?" Clara demanded, flinging her hands up in front of her. "Don't look at me like that!"

"He was trying to show me something before he died," Flynn said, advancing on her, "and that was the something!"

"What, that piece of paper you were hiding from me?" Clara said, putting two and two together.

"You hide paper from each other?" Eve said, frowning.

"Yes, we do," Flynn said pettishly.

"Don't let me disturb your fun-time, then," Eve muttered, turning away from them.

"He was here," Clara said, returning to the subject at hand, "the man that got murdered, he was here."

"So?" Flynn said, shrugging his shoulders.

"How did he know about the Library?"

"I don't know," Flynn said, frowning, "it's one of the best kept secrets in the world."

"Think, big boy," Clara said, standing on tip-toe and tapping him on the nose, "_how did he know?_"

"He was very clever," Flynn said slowly.

Clara just shook her head, giving up.

"Is it possible you dropped one of your special glowing envelopes by mistake?" Eve said sarcastically. "That maybe he found it and like a fool followed it here?"

"He was smart," Flynn said, his eyes becoming vague, "so smart that you sent him an envelope!?" he hollered at the ceiling, making Clara and Eve jump violently.

"The ceiling can't answer you," Eve pointed out, recovering herself.

"But the shelves can," Clara parried.

"The Ledger!" Flynn boomed. "The _Ledger!_"

* * *

><p>"You. Are. <em>Vexing<em>," Flynn muttered as Eve fell into step beside him, vexing him even further.

"Oh, I like that word," Clara trilled, "vex, vexatious" -

- "It's my word, _I_ own it," Flynn snapped, becoming distracted by the sway of her hips for a mad moment.

"You can't own a word," Clara protested.

"_I _can."

"Who cares? What the hell is the Ledger when it's at home?" Eve asked imperiously as Flynn flung himself at a book-shelf, randomly pulling books out and scattering them on the floor.

"When a Librarian dies, the Library doesn't just send out one letter," Flynn explained, nearly getting knocked out by a hard back copy of _The Essential Plato_, "it sends out hundreds, _hundreds, _to qualified replacements all over the world, and invites them in for interview."

"Many are called, one is chosen," Eve said, not sounding the slightest bit impressed.

"Precisely," Flynn said slowly, pulling out what looked like an old journal. He stared at its stained cover for a moment, before flipping it open and flicking through its pages, concentrating on the latter part of the Ledger.

"Professor Jonas Shaieeeeerrrrr," he intoned, glancing up at Clara and Eve with a glint in his eye, "with his five PHDs, he would certainly have been qualified."

"No shit, Sherlock," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And no swearing in the Library!" Flynn admonished.

"Is he there?" Eve asked, snapping her fingers in front of Flynn's face, forcing him to focus. "Is he in this Ledger?"

"I'm checking, I'm checking," Flynn grumbled, glancing down at the pages again.

"How does the Ledger work?" Clara asked, curious. "Is it like an address book?"

"You have to sign in," Flynn said, his eyes scanning the page, Eve reading it over his shoulder," and yes he did. He's here. He said I wouldn't remember him, but he was here."

Silence.

"I know this name," Eve said suddenly, snatching the Ledger out of his hands, "Dr. Abraham Thomas."

"Hmm, Professor of Physics, Doctor of Medicines," Flynn said, not really caring, "spoke four languages and hey, let's throw a party!"

"I met Dr. Thomas at a NATO conference for bio-weapons," Eve said, her voice growing distant, "he died in a car accident last month."

For the next few minutes, Flynn and Eve checked the list of names against the Internet on Eve's phone, all of them coming up dead in a variety of accidents, Clara beginning to get bored with watching them. Then Flynn froze, his eyes widening almost in horror, backing away from Eve who remained oblivious, too caught up in ticking off her Who's Who of deceased academics.

"Somebody's killing potential Librarians," Eve said slowly, "but not all of them, just these top-ranked, top dozen or so..." She stared at the Ledger page for a long moment before flicking through her phone for another, her brow furrowing. "There's four left on the list," Eve said, glancing up at Clara, "with no death notices."

"How?" Clara asked, stepping forwards, frowning at Flynn who was staring at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted another head.

"They didn't turn up for the interview," Eve said, "Ezekiel Jones, Cassandra Cillian, Jacob Stone and Clara Hartley" -

- "Excuse me?" Clara squeaked.

_Unsinkable ships sink__  
><em>_Unbreakable walls break__  
><em>_Sometimes the things you think would never happen__  
><em>_Happen just like that__  
><em>_Unbendable steel bends__  
><em>_If the fury of the wind is unstoppable__  
><em>_I've learned to never underestimate__  
><em>_The impossible..._


	11. The Game Is Afoot

**The Game Is Afoot **

_Caught up in a mystery__  
><em>_No one to attend__  
><em>_Back in the beginning__  
><em>_But she started at the end__  
><em>_Blinded by a century__  
><em>_Dodging any threat__  
><em>_Pulled in all directions but it's too late to forget__..._

Clara cleared away the tea-caddy and sugar-tongs, her hands shaking. After the bomb-shell Eve had dropped, Clara's world had retracted in on itself like a kaleidoscope, before rearranging itself in lines she didn't recognize.

"So you and Flynn," Eve asked in an undertone, "what's that about?"

"What do you mean?" Clara said, confused.

"Did you meet him online?" Eve said, confusing Clara even further.

"No, it was in Starbucks," Clara replied.

"Oh," Eve said, setting her teacup down, "it's just you meet all sorts of crackpots online, so I thought..."

"Me and Flynn, we're not together," Clara said, brow furrowing.

"Sorry, I just thought" -

- "Don't think anything," Clara said, getting annoyed now.

"It's just I saw your dating profile," Eve explained, "and I assumed... well, I assumed wrong, didn't I?" she finished awkwardly.

"A dating profile is better than a death notice, isn't it?"

"I just didn't make the connection between Clara Hartley and you," Eve replied, "when it seems obvious now."

"Obviously."

Eve raised her eyebrows at Clara's tone.

"There are people trying to kill me and people trying to kill potential Librarians," Clara snapped. "My name is Clara and there's a Clara Hartley on their hit-list. But because Charlene said I was a cleaner, you completely ruled me out when a two year old could have made the connection."

Eve's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything else, realising she couldn't.

"Why are you so interested in Flynn anyways?" Clara asked.

"I'm not interested in Flynn," Eve said abruptly, standing up, "I was just curious that's all."

"And curiosity killed the cat," Flynn said, appearing out of thin air.

* * *

><p>Clara stepped through the doors of St. Francis Episcopal Hospital, trailing in Eve and Flynn's wake, feeling like a third wheel again. They were meant to be tracking down the other three potential Librarians, finding them before the Serpent Brotherhood did, but Clara wasn't exactly feeling the love from Eve and Flynn. As Clara tripped over a piece of loose linoleum, Eve and Flynn glared at her in unison, confirming her suspicions they just saw her as a burden they had to babysit, slowing them down and distracting them from their day job of saving the day.<p>

Some medics suddenly rushed through the doors behind them, pushing a hospital trolley bearing an unconscious woman, her face slack, eyes shut. "Female, early twenties, collapsed at school, high temperature, BP 140 over 90, pulse 100, temp 102.5," one of the medics reeled off to a doctor as they moved, Clara stepping back to give them some space, Flynn and Eve not showing any such consideration. "Sudden high fever, sore joints, nausea and vomiting," the medic continued as more medical staff joined the procession, Flynn following them, ducking and diving, trying and failing to get a word in edgeways.

Rolling her eyes, Clara grabbed the back of his great-coat, hauling him back, making Flynn whirl on her as Eve followed the hospital trolley down the hall.

"What are you doing?" Flynn hissed, glancing at Eve's retreating back.

"What are _you _doing?" Clara hissed back.

"I'm sticking my rather big nose into a medical emergency," Flynn snapped, "that's what I'm doing!"

"You're creating an obstruction!"

"And you're creating a rather pretty picture in that outfit," Flynn said, suddenly flipping the charm switch on. "So why don't you stand over there so the rest of the world can appreciate your unearthly beauty" -

Clara grabbed his ear, and she grabbed it hard, dragging his face down to hers. "We are here for Cassandra Cillian," she said dangerously, "nothing else. Savvy?"

"Savvy," Flynn winced, Clara finally letting him go, the two of them turning around as the sound of raised voices filled the corridor, some sort of situation unfolding with one of the hospital janitors and the patient that had been brought in, the janitor's words running together in a way that made Clara take a step back in surprise.

- "thesensitvitytolightbutyou'reignoringtheotherfactorstheotherfactorsshe'swearinganecklacethathasparrotfeathersshepickedupofftheground," the janitor gabbled, "it'shomemadethefeather'sfadingcommercialfeathersarepreservedagainstsunlightandultravioletlightultraviolet" -

- "By Jove, she's right!" Flynn boomed, rushing to where the janitor was, the sceptical medical staff glancing up at him as he approached, Eve pulling a camera phone out of the patient's pocket as he drew level with her. "There are 914 species of bird in North America and this doesn't match" - he did a double-take at the bright yellow feather attached to the patient's necklace, before cawing like a parrot himself - "that's an African parrot feather!" he said in disbelief.

Eve held up the phone, showing the stunned medical personnel a picture of the patient with a parrot perched on her shoulder.

"Fine, let's go," the doctor suddenly snapped, bringing them all back to life. The janitor then hastily made her escape as they left, Clara following her, suspicious that this was the Cassandra Cillian they were looking for. If lunacy was one of the requirements for being a Librarian, Flynn had it in spades, but in terms of intelligence, it seemed Cassandra left him in the shade.

"Radiation, radiation," the janitor muttered as she collapsed down on a bench by the window, "radiation, the collision of matter" -

- "Hi," Clara said, biting the bullet, making the young woman jump violently.

"Hi," the janitor said nervously, pushing a lock of crimson hair out of her pellucid blue eyes.

"Are... are you alright?" Clara asked in a rush, figuring she had to start somewhere before launching into the science fiction story that was the Library.

Instead of answering the question, the janitor stared at something in mid-air, her eyes dilating before clearing, a rush of equations escaping her lips, making Clara take a step back again.

"Do you always have this effect on people?" Flynn said, steering Clara out of the way, startling her.

"I think we found our Cassandra," Clara said, sidestepping the insult.

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said to no-one in particular, "it'll stop in a second." Her pretty face suddenly lit up, changing it completely. "I smell peanuts this time," she said, glancing up at them all, "that's not bad."

"Wow," Flynn said, stooping down so he was eye-level with her, "auditory and sensory hallucinations that link memory retrieval. You're a synesthete?"

"Wow, yes," Cassandra echoed, "Hi!" she aimed at Eve, who returned the greeting, looking slightly startled at Cassandra's sudden perkiness.

"She has a photographic memory," Flynn explained as he stood up, "like mine."

"Okay..." Clara said slowly, thinking Flynn was flattering himself a little bit too much, "explain further, big boy."

"Her brain is cross-wired," Flynn said in an undertone, as though Cassandra wasn't there, "all five senses are linked to her memory," holding up five fingers to illustrate his point.

"Numbers are colours," Cassandra intoned, rocking back and forth now, "science is musical notes - when I do math, I smell things. It's mostly breakfast."

"That's nice," Clara said, slapping a smile on, "but you're in a lot of danger, Cassandra. You need to come with us."

"Are you the police?" Cassandra asked, confused and not a little suspicious.

"No, I'm the Librarian," Flynn said, stepping forwards, his face suddenly stern. "Go and get your coat."

* * *

><p>"Ninjas in Oklahoma?" Clara said incredulously.<p>

Flynn just nodded, eyes narrowing as he scanned the corridor ahead of them, studying each door in turn. Eve was gone, her disturbing presence no longer disturbing him. He'd reasoned if he couldn't get rid of Eve by force, he would get rid of her through other means. One tactic he was testing was by turning her into his gopher, assigning her the task of abducting Jacob Stone, as well as becoming Cassandra's unpaid bodyguard. Clara had been slightly confused by the abduction part but Flynn had explained Jacob Stone probably wouldn't be as pliable as Cassandra, hence why force was needed. The only problem was with Eve gone, he'd become saddled with Clara and her confusion instead, but Flynn had further reasoned he couldn't have his cake and eat it.

"Well, if you can get ninjas in Starbucks, why not Oklahoma?" Clara murmured to herself as she threaded her arm through Flynn's, letting him steer her towards the third door on the right.

"My heart belongs in Geneva," Flynn sighed as they found themselves in yet another corridor.

"Your heart belongs in your chest or you'd be dead," Clara pointed out practically.

"I was trying to be poetic," Flynn snapped.

"Stick to being a pain, it suits you better," Clara said pertly.

"Talking of suits, you haven't seen my white one," Flynn said, guiding her through yet another door, "It's _bedazzling_."

"How... lovely," Clara said uneasily, spying a set of glass display cases containing various artefacts, a young man almost window-shopping his way round them all.

"Stay here," Flynn whispered, shoving her behind a statue of Persephone.

Clara could only watch as Flynn ducked and dived his way through the display of display cases, doing a spectacular pirouette before disappearing from sight. As the young man then stopped in front of one particular exhibit, running his hands almost lovingly across the glass, another man came up from behind him, seemingly appearing out of thin air, his face blank, brow furrowed, hands folded in front of him.

Before Clara could blink, he suddenly pulled a dagger out from the inside of his suit, the young man whirling around, shocked, Clara frozen to the spot in horror. There was a sharp crackling sound like an electrical current, making the man with the dagger scream in agony, before slumping to the ground, Flynn popping up behind him like a Jack-In-The-Box.

The young man just looked at Flynn for a long moment. "Why was that security guard holding a dagger?" the young man then said, almost unperturbed as he gestured to the unconscious man.

"That wasn't a security guard," Flynn replied, "he was sent here to kill you."

"Hi, my name is Clara and can we go now, pretty please?" Clara said, throwing herself between them.

"I told you to stay there!" Flynn scolded, trying to detach her hand from his sleeve.

"You told me to stay _here_," Clara flung back, "and I'm _here_, so ha!"

Silence.

"You look like you could use a stiff drink," the young man then said, shoving a wad of crisp dollar bills into the startled Clara's hand, "here, have one on me."

"Ezekiel Jones," Flynn said almost admiringly as Clara looked at the money as though it was tainted.

"And I'm assuming you're _not_ here to kill me," Ezekiel said, rounding the side of the display case, "so tell you what. Watch my back for ten minutes and I'll cut you in on ten per cent."

Flynn just laughed rather disturbingly, disturbing Clara enough to finally let go of his sleeve.

"Don't I know you?" Ezekiel then asked Flynn, smirking slightly as he began to break into the display case.

Flynn assumed the air of a blushing maiden.

"I do _know _you," Ezekiel said, his eyes crinkling up in the corners in recognition, "you're that crazy Professor" -

- "Librarian," Clara corrected him, clutching Flynn's sleeve again, "and you're stealing that jewelled dagger."

"Well observed, mademoiselle," Ezekiel mocked, "you'd give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money."

Clara glowered at him, making Ezekiel's smirk become a full-blown grin.

"But actually you're wrong," Ezekiel continued, searing a hole in the glass, "this is mine. I just left it locked in this display case on my way to work this morning."

"You're burning a hole in a room full of infra-red sensors," Flynn pointed out gently.

As if on cue, alarms started blaring. For a moment Ezekiel looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and then he was off, darting towards the nearest exit. Flynn took off after him, dragging Clara in his wake, scattering dollar bills as they went.

_Ride up in a mystery__  
><em>_Voices in my head__  
><em>_Asking for an answer but they question me instead__  
><em>_Cover all that pretty sound__  
><em>_Danger up ahead__  
><em>_One more and you'll get it__  
><em>_So I'll follow you instead...__  
><em>


	12. Wish You Weren't Here

**Wish You Weren't Here **

"What's taking them so long?" Flynn muttered, making Clara roll her eyes.

Then the lift doors opened, revealing Eve and the others, Flynn stowing away his fob-watch at the sight of them. After delivering Ezekiel into Eve's protection, the thief joining Jacob and Cassandra in the safe house sourced for them by Charlene, Flynn had congratulated himself on a job well done, retreating to Rio to celebrate, leaving Clara to the uncomfortable confines of his couch instead. But now the fun and games were over, Flynn now having to face up to the responsibility of having four lives depending on his one.

As Eve led the other potential Librarians out of the lift, Cassandra nervously raised her hand to Clara, Clara waving back, trying to set the other girl at ease. Ezekiel favoured Clara with a brief nod, one she returned just as briefly, the cowboy beside him appraising Clara like she was a painting, raising his eyebrows in appreciation. Clara just tilted her chin, before smoothing down her skirt and turning on her heel.

"Where do you think you're going?" Flynn said, grabbing her arm, halting her in her tracks.

"I'm going to clean the display cases," Clara said, looking at him as if he was stupid. "I've done my meet and greet and now it's goodbye."

"Yes, goodbye to me," Flynn said abruptly, stunning her.

"What do you mean?" Clara whispered, something in her eyes striking Flynn through his frozen heart.

"You wanted me to work out why your life was being threatened," Flynn said dryly, covering up his guilt with coldness, "and this is me working it out."

"So you're just getting rid of me now?" Clara spat, tearing her arm out of his grip.

"Not quite," Flynn said, "but your place isn't with me, it's with them. You're all in the same boat now, so go and join the galley." He gestured to the others who were all shamelessly eavesdropping, Eve included, all too distracted by the domestics in front of them to notice the labyrinthine Library forming the backdrop to the fight.

Clara just stared at him, dark eyes filled with disbelief. Then her face hardened, and she stalked over to join the others, crossing her arms over her chest as she did so, turning to face Flynn with a defiant toss of her head. Flynn's jaw tightened, but other than that, he forced himself to appear unfazed.

"Hi," Cassandra said, reinforcing her earlier greeting.

"Hi," Clara replied, trying to hide her hurt.

"You have got to be kidding me!?" the cowboy exclaimed, startling them all.

As the others raised their heads, attention finally caught and held by the impossible interior, the cowboy took his chance and held out his slightly grubby hand to Clara. Clara raised her eyebrows, exuding disdain like a duchess at a low-brow dinner party.

"I don't think we've been introduced," the cowboy pressed, dropping his hand to his side, "m'name's Jacob, Jacob Stone."

"How delightful," Clara said sarcastically, her gaze finding Flynn's for a moment. They stared at one another, Clara's face suddenly vulnerable instead of fierce, and then Flynn looked away, pretending to become absorbed in a passing butterfly, both unaware Eve was watching this piece of by-play.

"Some place this," Jacob said, unperturbed.

"It's _amazing_," Cassandra said, gate-crashing the conversation.

"Is that the Arc of the Covenant?" Jacob called over to Flynn, making him turn around.

"Yes it is," Flynn suddenly beamed, suffused with the pride of a proud father over his offspring being admired.

Jacob clucked his tongue in admiration as he came down the steps, the others following him, Eve trailing behind, suddenly seeming unsure of herself. Clara glanced curiously at her, but Eve just straightened her shoulders, assuming her air of authority again.

"And is that a fairy?" Jacob asked, gesturing to the butterfly now fluttering away.

"Fairies don't exist," Clara snapped.

"What about Big-Foot and Dracula?" Cassandra chirped, skipping alongside Flynn as he led them down the aisle.

"Yes and no," Flynn said, "yes on Big-Foot."

"Is that the Spear of Destiny?" Ezekiel said, his eyes greedily devouring it.

"Yes and you'll keep your Fagin fingers off it please," Flynn intoned, wagging his own finger at Ezekiel.

"Vampires aren't real?" Eve asked sceptically, speaking up for the first time.

"Vampires are real," Flynn reproved, "but Dracula is not because I killed him, so ha!"

"Never mind that," Jacob said, brow furrowing slightly as Clara barged past him, clipping his elbow, "why are we here? Why are there ninjas trying to kill us?"

"Ten years ago, each of you received an envelope inviting you to apply for a position here at this Library," Eve said loftily, leading them past the book-shelves. "But none of you turned up."

"I was a school-girl ten years ago," Clara said, confused.

"Only seventeen, she is the dancing queen," Flynn sang off-key, sashaying round Clara, clicking imaginary castanets.

"You have an IQ of 290," Eve said, "so I guess that makes you about seventy in the Library's eyes."

"I was a child prodigy actually," Clara said with some pride, sidestepping Flynn.

"I have an IQ of 190," Jacob said, sounding hurt. "Does that make me less of a man?"

"It doesn't explain why she didn't get the letter though," Ezekiel said, frowning.

"My dad died that year," Clara said softly, "and we moved house. We moved a lot actually..." Her voice trailed off and she looked down at the ground instead, unable to bear the sight of their sympathetic faces.

"You can't outrun the past, Clara," Flynn said quietly, startling her. For a moment, they just stared at one another, and then Cassandra spoke up, looking as despondent as Clara felt.

"Ten years ago I was in a hospital," she said, running her fingers forlornly along the book spines.

"Tumour," Flynn said before he could stop himself. They all watched as he winced, a strange hissing noise emanating from his throat.

"Excuse me?" Cassandra squeaked.

Flynn slowed to a halt. "Synesthetes rarely have all five senses involved," Flynn explained uneasily, "and you've got full blown hallucinations and seizures indicative of a frontal lobe anomaly."

Cassandra started to shrink into herself under his scrutiny, a situation not helped by the others' shocked stares.

"How... big is it? The tumour I mean, that silly satsuma that's not in your medulla oblongata," Flynn asked awkwardly, Clara suddenly snapping and slapping him across the face.

"Why do you keep doing that!?" Flynn bellowed, clutching his cheek.

"Because you have the emotional range of a tea-spoon, that's why," Clara exploded, "and yes, I am quoting from Harry Potter!"

"Can I be your Ron, then?" Jacob interjected, Clara glaring rather Hermionely at him.

"We're talking about her tumour here," Flynn said, put out.

"No. We. Are. Not," Clara said from between gritted teeth.

"It's okay," Cassandra said, shifting nervously from one foot to the next. "It's less satsuma and more grape-fruit, which I wish they hadn't told me because I used to really like grapes."

"Are you..." Ezekiel asked uneasily.

"Not yet," Cassandra almost but not quite snapped. "Someday though, sooner than I'd like. But not yet." She smiled hopefully at Jacob who tried and failed to smile encouragingly back. "But I've lived long enough to learn that magic exists," she chirped, "so that's pretty cool."

"Yes indeed," Flynn boomed over the echoes of 'pretty cool', before leading them in the direction of the library wing, anxious to drop the subject and escape Clara's death glares.

"Stone, why didn't you show up?" Eve boomed in turn, earning a look of praise from Flynn.

"I already had a job, family business," Jacob replied.

"I threw my letter out," Ezekiel added.

They all stopped to turn and look at him.

"It was obviously a mistake," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders. "I steal stuff; I've been stealing stuff since I was a kid. I'm not going to get invited to work in a library."

"It's a magic library," Cassandra reproved.

"Yeah, great," Ezekiel said disparagingly, "it doesn't fill my pocket. I only came here to find out who's trying to kill me."

"That makes two of us," Clara said dourly.

"Better make it three," Jacob interjected, "Cassie's only here for the magic."

"Hot damn, I am!" Cassandra sang, earning a rare smile from Flynn. But as his eye caught Clara's, his smile faltered before fading.

_Caught in the riptide  
>I was searching for the truth<br>There was a reason  
>I collided into you...<em>


	13. I Call It Magic

**I Call It Magic **

"If magic's real, how come we don't see it all the time?" Jacob asked as Flynn led them into the library wing.

"Once upon a time, the world was filled with magic," Flynn intoned, flinging the doors open, "its energy travelling along a power network of ley-lines," he continued, snatching up a globe from his desk and flinging it up into the air, wherein it expanded into a 3D model of the Earth, a pattern of blue lines glowing along its surface. "Behold the magic, plebeians!" Flynn declared, clapping his hands together.

"But where's the magic now?" Jacob asked, confused.

"It's there," Ezekiel said, gesturing to the pattern of blue lines.

"Indiana's talking in the past tense, pal," Jacob said witheringly, "I'm talking about today."

"Over the centuries the magic was drained off and stored into artefacts," Flynn explained tersely as Clara crossed her arms over her chest.

"Like Excalibur?" Eve asked.

"Exactly," Flynn agreed, wishing Clara would ease off her attitude. "He was one of the most powerful."

"He?" Cassandra squeaked, confused.

"The magic started to fade," Flynn continued as though she hadn't spoken, "as cities were constructed over the ley-lines, and technology began to advance, so as you can see," he gestured to the now fading blue lines, the 3D model of Earth shrinking in on itself, "there is now very little magic left."

"Where do you fit into all this?" Ezekiel asked.

"My job is to make sure what remains doesn't fall into the wrong hands," Flynn said, catching the globe as it fell back to the real Earth. "For example the people who tried to kill the four of you," he said, slamming the globe down on the desk as he looked round them all, the desk protesting loudly, making all but Flynn and Clara jump.

"Did your desk just speak?" Jacob asked, bewildered.

"Is your ass really that big or is it just an illusion designed to dazzle the optics?" the desk retorted.

"I do not have a big ass," Jacob said, insulted.

"Let me be the judge of that," Flynn said, whipping out his measuring tape.

"I don't think so," Clara said hastily, snatching it out of his hand.

As Flynn fought to get the measuring tape back, Jacob breathed a heavy sigh of relief, not fancying having Flynn's fingers feeling his ass. "Thank you," Jacob mouthed, making Clara a small bow, hands clasped Mandarin style before him.

Clara just ignored him, chucking the measuring tape over her shoulder instead.

"Hey, that really hurt my feelings," Flynn said, pouting over the loss of his measuring tape.

"Now you know the feeling," Clara said quietly.

An awkward silence descended until Eve spoke up.

"The woman who tried to kill Stone, she had a snake tattoo," Eve said suddenly. "And there were ninjas..." She turned to Clara as the penny dropped.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Clara said before she could stop herself.

"The what?" Eve said.

"The Serpent Brotherhood are the ones who tried to kill me, ninjas and all," Clara said, realising she'd really put her foot in it, "and the woman is called Lamia."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Eve exploded, swelling up.

"He told me," Clara said, pointing at Flynn.

Eve just shook her head, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Again, you should have made the connection," Clara said pertly, "ninjas in Starbucks, ninjas in Oklahoma? Tsk-tsk."

"That's enough," Flynn admonished, silencing Clara.

"What is the Serpent Brotherhood?" Ezekiel asked, the others looking awkward.

"They're an ancient cult hell-bent on bringing magic back into the world," Flynn explained, "I fought them before."

"But what did Professor Sheer find to pressure them to kill him and then murder their way down the list?" Clara asked.

"Shaieeeeerrrrr, Clara!" Flynn shouted. "It's _Shaieeeeerrrrr!_"

"Why don't you just _shhhhhhhut _up!" Clara shouted, silencing Flynn this time.

"Uh, what did this Sh - this Professor guy find?" Jacob asked nervously.

"Still vexing," Flynn said in an undertone to Clara.

"You to a T," Clara hissed, snatching up the print-out of the painting she'd named as _The Crown of King Arthur_. "This is what the Professor was trying to show Flynn," she said clippedly, handing it to Jacob. "It must be connected to what he found, but what, I don't know."

Jacob studied the print-out. "It's _The Crown of King Arthur_," he muttered, brow furrowing.

"That's what I said," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest again.

"Hidden in plain sight," Flynn whispered.

"That's not what she said," Cassandra said, exchanging a glance with Ezekiel.

"It's _The Crown of King Arthur_," Jacob repeated, albeit louder this time.

Flynn snatched the print-out from Jacob's fingers, glaring at him. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking like he was going to hit Jacob.

"Yeah," Jacob said, not looking impressed. "And I'm sure she's sure," he added, jerking his chin at Clara.

"The Crown was forged by Merlin," Clara explained, making everyone but Flynn look at her, "to give Arthur control over the magic they needed to build Camelot."

"How do you know that?" Flynn asked, still not looking at her.

"I read it somewhere," Clara shrugged. "I have a slight obsession with the subject."

"So it's the Crown they want?" Eve hazarded.

Clara looked confused for a moment before the penny dropped.

"Maybe _you _should have made the connection this time, sweetie," Eve said smugly, "especially with your middle name being Guinevere and all."

Clara turned red, her face fuming, much to Eve's amusement.

"The Crown is real, like really real?" Cassandra asked, blue eyes shining.

"Really, really," Flynn said.

"And they really want the Crown then?" Ezekiel said.

"Yes, they do," Flynn said, rolling his eyes.

"Sound like my kind of people," Ezekiel said, Cassandra elbowing him in the side.

"So the Brotherhood wants to bring magic back but they need the Crown to control it?" Eve said slowly. "Cannot believe I just said that with a straight face," she added in an undertone, face disbelieving.

"Um, why is bringing magic back bad?" Cassandra asked, holding her hand up like she was in a classroom. "Because magic seems pretty cool."

"It is... cool," Flynn said carefully, "until warring nations drown each other in tidal waves of blood." Clara glanced at Flynn, something in his statement hitting home. "Or they use dragons to burn cities to the ground," Flynn continued, his voice increasing in volume, "or they harness Medusa's power to turn enemies into stone - a world of magic is a world full of chaos and suffering."

Silence.

"I will begin," Flynn then began, faltering as Jacob gently took the print-out of the painting from his fingers. Flynn just looked at him before snatching it back. Jacob glanced round them all, mouthing _meow! _much to Clara's reluctant amusement. "Why don't you pour me a bowl of milk while you're at it, Clint?" Flynn said coldly, making Jacob look away.

"Ummm, maybe you should begin by examining the original painting," Clara said hastily, anxious to avert another fight. Two warring nations were enough without adding a third to the fray.

"That's precisely what I was going to say, my dear Clara," Flynn said with a pained smile.

"It's by an unknown artist," Jacob said.

Clara shrugged her shoulders, not getting his point.

"I don't know where that name's at," Jacob said, getting annoyed now.

"Munich Museum of History and Art," Ezekiel said suddenly.

They all looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"I cased the joint last month for a heist," Ezekiel said, being the one to shrug this time, "memorised the inventory."

"That's why the four of you were targeted," Eve exclaimed, startling them all, "while you were busy doing whatever Librarians do," she said to Flynn, flapping her hand at him -

- "Saving the world - a lot," Flynn said, puffing out his chest -

- "and they," Eve said, waving her hand at Clara and the others as though Flynn hadn't spoken, "the other Librarians" -

- "They're not Librarians," Flynn protested, "I'm the only Librarian" -

- "they're the people most likely to locate the Crown," Eve said, on a roll now. "The Brotherhood were just trying to wipe out the competition."

"Well done, sweetie," Clara said sarcastically.

Eve made her a mock bow.

"Well, I say we should beat them to it," Jacob said, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

"Yeah, let's kick some Brotherhood butt," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"Fair enough," Ezekiel agreed with a devil-may-care grin. "No-one tries to stab Ezekiel Jones in the back without Ezekiel Jones returning the favour."

"I've never been to Europe, so..." Cassandra said, smiling shyly, grabbing the straps of her floral backpack almost for support.

"No, no, _no,_" Flynn said, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Jacob said dangerously.

"First things first," Flynn said, holding up a finger, "let's not refer to ourselves in the third person. Plus there is going to be no beating or butt kicking, Europe is overrated and I work alone. So if you'll excuse me, goodbye," he said abruptly, heading for the doors.

"Nuh-uh," Eve said, striding forwards, "I got an envelope."

"So did I," Flynn said, unflustered.

"We all did," Clara pointed out helpfully.

Eve's jaw tightened. "The Library invited _me_ to _this _party and I'm taking _them_ to Munich," Eve said, gesturing to Clara and the others. "Maybe we'll see you there," she finished, folding her arms across her chest.

Flynn just frowned.

"Try to keep up," Eve said with a sarcastic smile, before patting him on the shoulder as she left, the others hastily following her.

_Call it magic_  
><em>Cut me into two<em>  
><em>And with all your magic<em>  
><em>I disappear from view...<em>


	14. Learn Flynnish In Four Easy Lessons

**Learn Flynnish In Four Easy Lessons**

"So why are we looking for a British crown in a German museum?" Ezekiel asked as they headed towards the museum, the sun beating down on their heads.

"Don't ask me," Clara muttered.

"Sorry I asked," Ezekiel said, exchanging glances with Cassandra and Jacob.

Nothing more was said until they were in the museum, Flynn trying in vain to locate the original painting amongst those on display. As he turned wildly on the spot, he nearly knocked Clara over, Flynn hastily catching her by the elbow. They stared at one another before Flynn let go of her arm as though he'd been burned. Then he caught sight of the painting through the crowd, his face lighting up with glee.

"Oh, hello," he cooed, making a beeline for it, the others trailing in his wake, leaving Eve standing on guard. Forming a line, they then stood in front of the painting for several moments, heads tilted to the side, Flynn trying and failing to look intellectual.

"Don't stand there looking like you're working up the nerve to ask it to dance," Clara hissed to him, "figure it out for chrissake!"

"I am _trying_," Flynn said from between gritted teeth, ignoring Eve's own loud hiss of _Flynn! _from somewhere behind his back.

"Alright, troops," Clara said, rallying them all, "what do we know about this sweet slice of Arthurian abstraction?"

"It's of a crown," Cassandra said helpfully.

"Artist unknown, painted in 1146," Ezekiel added, squinting slightly, "installed as one of the original pieces in the museum in 1546."

"You're just reading the notice," Clara said, throwing her hands up into the air.

Flynn just shook his head, Jacob sidling over to Clara, his face thoughtful.

"Look at the swords of the knights," Jacob whispered in Clara's ear, "they're Roman short swords."

Clara looked at him, then the painting, then Jacob again. "Arthur's a legionnaire?" Clara said sceptically.

"It's the Roman hypothesis," Jacob explained.

"What, when the Roman Empire fell, the Roman legions stationed in Britain stayed behind?" Clara hazarded.

Jacob nodded.

"Camelot as a city," Clara said slowly. "Caliban merely another name for Excalibur."

"Armoured warriors and legionnaires, it all fits," Jacob smiled.

"Well, aren't you two the dream team?" Flynn said sarcastically.

"What, like you and Eve?" Clara spat.

"Me and Eve?" Flynn said, confused.

"I think she's taken a bit of a shine to you, big boy," Clara said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You better get your best courting cravat ready for action."

Flynn just scowled at her.

"So Arthur's a Roman?" Ezekiel said, looking unconvinced.

"Looks like it," Cassandra replied.

"There's only one problem," Jacob said dourly, "the painting's a fake."

* * *

><p>Clara leaned against the wall, listening to them all argue about carmine, binary codes and security protocols. Amidst the chaos, Flynn started flapping his hands like a chicken, throwing himself into the fray and silencing them all with his stern face.<p>

"It's like listening to the inside of my own head," he snapped, looking like a cantankerous old man for a moment, "except _louder_."

"But the binary" -

- "The painting is a fake!"

"And it can't be moved!"

"Alright!" Clara bellowed, stepping forwards. "The painting is a fake! We get your point, my palomino prince!" she fired at Jacob, making him wince. "And as for the binary code, it's obviously a message, Archimedes!" she aimed at Cassandra. "The frame can't be moved because the frame's location in this museum must be important, John Dillinger," she slung at Ezekiel, "so where does that leave us now, Librarian?" she finished on, turning to Flynn.

"It leaves us choking on the dust left in the wake of your frantic speed of thought," Flynn said coldly.

"Whatever," Clara said, rolling her eyes. "Let's start with the code," she said, then turning to Cassandra, "what else have you got on that?"

"You're a control freak and it's a co-ordinate code," Cassandra smiled prettily, "leading us somewhere that requires a key, some sort of reference point."

"Like a fixed point in space and time?" Clara hazarded.

"Way to go, Doctor Who," Ezekiel muttered, put out by Clara's pulverising personality.

"Nerd," Jacob muttered.

"It's a fixed point," Clara repeated, glaring at the guys.

"Like a painting that can't be moved?" Flynn said suddenly, before performing a perfect pirouette.

"If that was meant to illustrate your point, you failed, epically," Clara said.

"Margot Fonteyn admired my high instep," Flynn said pettishly, "said it was the mark of a true aristocrat."

"Tell us about this key," Clara said hastily, turning to Cassandra again.

"The entire museum is the key," Cassandra said, her hands now shaking with excitement, "the dimensions to the floors and the rooms, they relate to where the painting is - that's the key to the code!"

"Leading where?" Ezekiel asked, his eyes lighting up with greed.

"Let's find out," Flynn said lightly.

* * *

><p>They all ran towards the sun-dial, Clara's high-heeled brogues nearly breaking her neck. As she slumped against the sun-dial, Flynn started translating the Latin inscribed on its stone surface, muttering manically about great woods and Celts. Clara glanced up as Eve appeared out of nowhere, blonde hair slightly mussed, a button missing from her black jacket.<p>

"Problems?" Clara asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Eve parried.

"The Crown of King Arthur is real," Flynn said slowly, straightening up.

"Duh," Ezekiel said, everyone ignoring him.

"Where is it?" Jacob asked, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun with his hand.

"It's buried in the Black Forest," Flynn said, sounding uneasy. Then he did a double-take when he clocked Eve by his elbow. "Where have you been?" he said pompously. "Some very exciting stuff's going on here." Then he sauntered off, leaving an annoyed Eve standing in his wake.

"I think that's Flynnish for 'I missed you'," Clara said in a loud whisper, making Eve glare at her.

"Come on, troops!" Flynn hollered, waving his hand at them. "Carpe diem!"

"And I guess that's Flynnish for get your asses into gear," Eve said darkly.

_Carpe diem, a battle cry__  
><em>_Are we all too young to die?__  
><em>_Ask a reason and no reply__  
><em>_Are we all too young to die?_

_Making a living__  
><em>_Making a killing__  
><em>_What's worth forgiving?__  
><em>


	15. Leontopodium Alpinum

**Leontopodium Alpinum**

"Whoa, stop here!" Flynn bellowed.

Clara braked sharply, throwing everybody forwards in their seats, Flynn nearly flying out of the jeep window he was leaning half out of. Clara seized his coat-tails, yanking him back, rather like a kite. Everyone took this as a signal to vacate the Land-Rover, Cassandra hanging back, her pretty face petulant.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked, wrapping her arms around herself, wishing she'd thought to bring a cardigan.

"I think we should stop to snack and hydrate," Cassandra said, swinging her floral backpack off her shoulder. "I packed some sandwiches with cucumbers and crackers, which are delicious with prosciutto."

"People are trying to kill us and you brought a picnic?" Clara said sarcastically.

"Hey," Jacob intervened, "we're on an adventure, lighten up."

Clara pulled a face, looking uncannily like Flynn for a moment. Then a helicopter suddenly soared overhead, making them all glance up.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Flynn said darkly.

"They have a helicopter?" Eve asked as she stood by Flynn's side, something Clara noticed Eve seemed to be making a habit of.

"Yeah," Flynn said abruptly.

"Why don't we have a helicopter?"

"Because we have a Charlene," Flynn said, taking off like a helicopter himself, Eve and the others following him, "although we approved the budget for one rental car" -

- "Bollocks!" Clara cried, the world suddenly tipping sideways.

"Whoa!" Ezekiel echoed, grabbing her arm.

"Watch out for errant rabbit holes!" Flynn called as he galloped ahead.

Shaking his head, Ezekiel then hauled Clara free, Cassandra clasping her hands together in concern. Rolling her eyes, Eve shepherded them forwards, casting an askance glance at Clara's heels as she did so. They trailed after Flynn, clustering close together, the forest suddenly becoming less fairytale and more threatening, unnerving even the usually stalwart Eve. Clara limped on, refusing Jacob's offer of his arm to lean on.

"Flynn, get back here!" Eve shouted, forcing him to a faltering stop.

As Flynn fell into step with them, he glanced over his shoulder at Clara, looking worried at seeing her limping, Clara casting him a contemptuous glance that quickly cut off his concern.

"You had problems at the museum?" Flynn then asked Eve, deliberately ignoring Clara.

Eve looked at him in surprise, realising he had registered her presence after all back at the sundial. "I dealt with it, don't worry," she said quietly.

Flynn just nodded, plucking a leaf off a passing branch.

"You and I... we kinda have the same job," Eve began uneasily, making Flynn look at her this time. "You know, running around the world and finding dangerous objects," she explained in response to his querying glance.

"It's important work," Flynn said almost absentmindedly.

"Which is why he has to stay focused," Clara called from behind them.

"I'm completely focused on my job," Flynn echoed even as he ignored Clara. "You might even say I'm married to it."

"I'm the same," Eve said slowly, "when I go home, I just focus on the next job, if people get in the way, boom, they're gone. I don't mean I kill them," she added hastily, "I just let them fall by the wayside, friends, family..." her voice faded into nothing, her face falling slightly.

Flynn looked away, understanding all too well.

"You know," Eve said quietly, slowing to an almost stop, "you're not nearly as weird as I thought you were back in Berlin."

Flynn looked slightly wrongfooted, his hand flying unthinkingly to his cravat.

"Wrong one, big boy," Clara called out merrily.

"Wrong what?" Eve said, confused.

Flynn didn't care to enlighten Eve on his courting cravat collection. "Well," he said awkwardly, tugging at an earlobe, "I think you're... you're..." his gaze focused on the middle distance, eyes becoming vague, "you're a henge," he finished, before bolting.

* * *

><p><em>Maybe I'm a mad man<em>_  
><em>_Maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad man__  
><em>_But you won't see a sad man__  
><em>_When you're looking at me..._

Clara slowed to a stop at the tree-line, watching as Flynn ran towards the henge with his arms outstretched, almost like he was going to embrace the medieval monument. There was something very Julie Andrews about him in that moment. Any second now Clara half expected him to burst out into song, maybe some Edelweiss to end the tedium. Eve went after him, acting more Grand Baby-Sitter than Guardian, Clara and the others trailing morosely after her.

"This is a henge?" Eve asked uneasily, rounding one of the piled up pieces of rock.

"This is more than a henge, my unearthly Eve!" Flynn trilled, skipping around the stones. "This is completely unheard of in this part of the world!"

"Is this the second clue, then?" Cassandra hazarded, setting her floral backpack down on the grass.

"Yes, to the burial place of the Crown," Flynn said, licking his finger and holding it up, trying to gauge the temperature of next Tuesday.

The helicopter soared overhead again, making them all glance up once more.

"You solve this and I'll go stall them," Eve said quickly.

Flynn shook his head.

"I'm your Guardian," Eve said, rolling her eyes.

"You're not my Guardian," Flynn reiterated, "but take Ezekiel with you."

Rolling her eyes again, Eve grabbed Ezekiel by the collar and hauled him away, much to his very loud annoyance.

"Alright, troops," Flynn said, clapping his hands together, "let's hit those high notes!"

Ignoring him, Clara limped over to a symbol engraved on one of the rocks, her eye caught by its design. "Astrological symbology," she said slowly, tracing its pattern with her fingertip.

"It's Latin," Jacob interjected, gesturing to the accompanying inscription.

"When the sun passes through, upon the fourth day after Solstice," Clara translated, earning an approving glance from Jacob.

"It's like Stonehenge," Flynn said, rounding the rocks.

"Obviously," Clara muttered.

"Light only comes through certain openings," Flynn continued, still ignoring Clara, "at certain hours on certain days. In fact, there's only one day a year you can read it. And that day... is not today," he finished, looking put out.

"We can recreate the sun's path," Clara said, trying to make him acknowledge her presence.

"We could triangulate each position," Flynn said, sitting down on an upturned stone, turning his back on her, "but it would take months to do that kind of math."

"It would take a while," Jacob said dourly.

"It wouldn't take me a while," Cassandra said, speaking up, making everyone look at her.


	16. A Bucket For A Crown

**A Bucket For A Crown **

After Cassandra had worked out the riddle of the rocks, nearly killing herself in the process, Flynn had hit one of the stones with the heel of his hand, revealing some sort of medieval safe concealed within its hard hollow. Clara stood staring at it, head spinning at everything that had just happened in the past five minutes. If she'd thought she was clever, she was nothing next to Cassandra. Clara had just remained rooted to the spot as Cassandra had reeled off data like she was some sort of human computer, Jacob stepping up and helping Cassandra focus when her mind went into freefall.

"Don't suppose you packed one of those, did you?" Clara asked Flynn, finally making him look at her.

"Actually, Cassandra did," Flynn said slowly, confusing everyone.

"Huh?" Cassandra asked, the most confused of all.

"In the truck," Flynn explained, "there's an oxygen tank and a First-Aid kit."

Again, confusion reigned.

"Go and round them up, cowboy," Flynn fired at Jacob, who promptly took off like a boomerang, too bewildered to challenge Flynn's order. "Idiot," Flynn then muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as Jacob fell over his feet, almost landing flat on his face.

"He might be Southern, but he's not stupid," Clara said irritably.

"Never said he was."

"You just called him an idiot!"

"You might feel some fondness for our resident bronco-buster, but the rest of us don't," Flynn said, looking bored.

"I like him," Cassandra chirped. "He would carry off a Stetson very well."

"I'd look _hot_ in a Stetson and a pair of Daisy Dukes," Flynn said, pluming himself. "Yee-haw!"

"This isn't Rawhide," Clara snapped.

"Whatever," Flynn said, flapping his hand at her, "I don't care what you say; I'd definitely give Jessica Simpson a run for her money."

* * *

><p>"Wow, a cutting tool that is both effective and delicious," Clara said sarcastically, as Flynn handed Jacob the cucumber-cum-blow-torch.<p>

"Bacon would have been better," Flynn said, getting to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Jacob asked, confused.

"I'm going to get the rest of our gang," Flynn said, "and you fantastic three are going to get that crown."

"No pressure then," Jacob muttered, eying the medieval safe with some trepidation.

"So stay put, my little Munchkins," Flynn said. "It isn't over until the fat lady sings." And then he was gone, leaving the others blinking in bewilderment.

"That guy is nuts," Jacob said, shaking his head to himself.

"You don't think?" Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"He did just construct a cutting torch out of a picnic lunch," Cassandra said mildly.

"Which proves my point exactly," Jacob said darkly.

* * *

><p><em>But sometimes the money's gonna run out<em>_  
><em>_And you'll be standing on the corner with a belly full of doubt__  
><em>_Sometimes somebody's gonna bring you down__  
><em>_And you'll be standing on your own with a bucket for a crown..._

"Imagine we had eyes in our ankles," Cassandra said, "then we could look inside mouse-holes without having to bend down."

"Focus, Cassie, focus," Jacob said, aiming the blue-white flame at the hinges.

"More like you should focus," Clara pointed out.

"I am, sweetheart," Jacob said, "but you're distracting me in more ways than one." His gaze flickered over her, taking her in from top to toe, making Clara turn away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

"I'm getting a teeny-weeny bit worried about the others," Cassandra said, nibbling on a cracker.

"You don't seem very worried," Clara snapped.

"Well, I am," Cassandra protested.

"I'll go and check, alright," Clara said, grateful to have an excuse to be alone.

"Flynn told us to stay here," Jacob said, standing up.

"And he told you to get that goddamn crown," Clara retorted, "so goddamn get it."

"Flynn's a big boy, he doesn't need you to babysit him," Jacob said, "he's got Eve for that."

Clara just shook her head and limped towards the trees, ignoring Jacob's shouts for her to stop. She was tired of standing there like she was a henge herself. She wanted to do something, to prove to herself that she _was _Librarian material. So far all she'd done was get stuck in a rabbit hole and translate some obscure Latin. It wasn't exactly the Ten Labours of Hercules.

As she made her way through the forest, following the sound of shouting, nearly ending up in a ditch as she did so, she then emerged from the tree-line, just in time to see Ezekiel get knocked sprawling to the ground. Limping forwards, she hastily snatched up a tree branch, creeping up behind and hitting his assailant over the head with it, reeling slightly as she did so.

"Wow," she said breathlessly, helping Ezekiel to his feet, "that certainly beats the Times crossword."

"Where the hell did you come from?" Ezekiel gasped, brushing himself down.

Clara pointed to the trees behind them.

"You Tarzan, me Jane?" Ezekiel said doubtfully.

"I meant the henge," Clara said, rolling her eyes, "the others found out where the crown was" -

The world suddenly went sideways, Clara colliding with damp earth, Ezekiel landing somewhere to the south of her. For a moment, nothing made sense, the sky spinning above her, and then reality righted itself, Clara trying and failing to find her tree-branch as a shadow fell across her.

"Oh, it's the one that got away," Lamia said, looming over Clara, twirling her sword like she was a majorette.

"Watch, you'll have someone's eye out with that," Ezekiel groaned.

"Shut up," Lamia snapped. "I'll be despatching you in a moment."

"The Princess of Parcelforce," Clara intoned, "delivering and despatching despots since 112 AD."

"Famous last words, little one," Lamia snarled, raising her sword like an axe -

- "Sorry to disturb the execution," Flynn said apologetically, "but can you tell me where Arcadia ends and Scheol begins?"

"Why are you always in the way!?" Lamia screeched, launching herself at Flynn.

"Because you have such a magnetic personality," Flynn said, sidestepping her.

"Flynn, catch!" Ezekiel cried, chucking his crowbar.

Flynn neatly caught it, before performing a minuet and parrying Lamia's sword aside as though it part of the dance.

"Nice fleuret," Clara observed weakly as Ezekiel hauled her to her feet.

"Thank you," Flynn bowed, deflecting another sword blow, "but I prefer performing the nautch. Preferably while fire-eating."

"We don't want to be here," Ezekiel called, running past them, leaving Clara to her own fate as he disappeared among the trees.

Flynn looked at Clara for enlightenment, but she just shook her head, looking as confused as Lamia.

"It's time to go!" Eve bellowed, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Flynn and Clara by both elbows, dragging them along.

"I can't run!" Clara cried, almost falling to her knees.

Rolling his eyes, Flynn shoved Eve on, before almost rugby-tackling Clara and slinging her over his shoulder. Before she could protest, she was up and away, tree-branches catching at her clothes and hair, the world whizzing past her. An explosion rocked the forest, sending them staggering, but they kept on, heading back to the henge, Ezekiel and Eve leading the way.

"The stone, how's it going!?" Flynn boomed, clumsily setting Clara down on the grass.

"We're done," Jacob said, looking slightly taken aback at their frazzled appearance.

"What was that big bang?" Cassandra asked disingenuously.

"It was me," Ezekiel said, striking a heroic pose.

"It was Jacob sitting down," Flynn said, twirling his crowbar, "remember, he has a huge ass."

"Just get the goddamn safe open," Eve snapped, glancing agitatedly over her shoulder.

"Your wish is not my command," Flynn said tersely, kneeling down in front of the safe.

They all watched as he levered it open, Cassandra passing Clara a cracker, both of them holding their breath as Flynn took out a burnished silver crown, his face inscrutable in the fading light.

"Congratulations," he said almost in disbelief, "you've all just did something no Librarian has been able to do in a thousand years." He raised his reverent gaze to theirs. "You found the Crown of King Arthur."


	17. Snakes And Ladders

**Snakes And Ladders**

"Not bad for their" -

- "only" -

- "first time out," Charlene said, looking reprovingly over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses at Flynn.

Flynn scowled at Charlene, still annoyed at her attempts to drag him back into the wider world. She didn't understand what it meant to be the Librarian, the losses and the loneliness, the long nights and empty days. Without thinking, Clara reached out to touch the Crown, her heart beating fast in her chest. Her obsession with King Arthur was something she tried to keep hidden, repressed even, but in the face of being confronted with his Crown, Clara couldn't contain herself anymore.

"Hey!" Flynn admonished, slapping her hand aside. "Don't touch! You'll die! Especially with a middle name like yours!"

"What is your middle name?" Ezekiel asked curiously.

"It's Guinevere," Clara said, brow furrowing, "you should know that by now."

"Hey, if I can't steal it, I'm not interested," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders. "If it's not nailed down, I'm gone."

"And anyways," Flynn said, frowning at them, "that was a job well done, so... well done!"

They all looked at each other, Jacob catching Clara's eye, making her look away.

"Flynn, what did you do on your first time out?" Cassandra asked curiously.

"I... I recovered the Spear of Destiny," Flynn said uncomfortably."And discovered the real meaning of cheese triangles."

"Now you're just showing off," Jacob said, folding his arms.

"I'm just getting started," Flynn parried.

* * *

><p>"Clara?" Flynn asked, making her turn around.<p>

"What is it?" she said uneasily. She'd hidden herself in the Reference section, figuring nobody would figure out where she was, but she'd obviously underestimated Flynn's finding abilities.

"I've got something for that ankle of yours," he said, holding up a cobalt blue decanter.

"Is that magic medicine?" Clara asked sceptically.

"I'm afraid so," Flynn said, indicating for her to take a seat on the stone bench.

Against her will, Clara sat down. As Flynn kneeled down in front of her, Clara's gaze drifted over his irregular features and broad shoulders, wondering at the sheer impossibility of him, how it could have been her in his place. Flynn glanced up, catching her eye, making her hastily look away.

"One little dab and Bob's your uncle," Flynn said offhandedly, averting his face away.

"I did have an uncle called Bob, actually," Clara said, wincing as his large hand steadied her ankle.

"Really?"

"Really, really," Clara said sarcastically, watching as he unstoppered the decanter, pouring some of the electric blue liquid over her bare skin, a sickly smelling mist enveloping her ankle.

"There you go, all done," Flynn said, getting up.

"Wait," Clara said, stopping him, "can't you do something for Cassie?"

Flynn looked at her for a long moment, before sitting down, rearranging his long limbs accordingly. "With magic, it's possible," Flynn said, sighing heavily, "but cheating death comes at a price. In the end, I'm not sure it's really worth it."

Clara nodded, something in her stricken face striking him in his frozen heart. "I never wanted this life for you, Clara," he said quietly, taking her hand, Clara tensing up even as she let him take it, "I never did and I never will."

"But that's just it, Flynn," she said tersely, "whether you like it or not, this is my life, Library and all."

"You could die, Clara," Flynn snapped, "this is life and death, not snakes and ladders!"

"But isn't it all just the same thing?" Clara argued. "Isn't snakes and ladders just a metaphor for life and death, your fate decided by the roll of a dice?"

"Philosophy and board games are two separate things," Flynn retorted. "Your destiny isn't dictated by chance."

"No, it's dictated by choice," Clara said, snatching her hand from his, "and it's my choice, not yours."

"But you don't have a choice!" Flynn exclaimed. "It's the Library that chooses, not you, and it chose you! It's like Jumanji on a giant scale, it decides for you, there and then, no going back, and you were the first, Clara, and I don't want to see you become the last - I know there are the others but you were the first and I don't want to lose all that I have left, and I'm rambling now, good-bye and good-night!"

"Wait," Clara said again, taken aback.

"What is it?" Flynn said, not meeting her eyes.

"If I'm - we're the last candidates; does one of us become the Librarian if you die?" Clara asked, confused.

"That's the rules of the game," Flynn said formally.

"But what about us?" Clara said, confusing herself even further.

"There is no us," Flynn said, "and this is over."

As he turned to leave her, an alarm went off, startling them both.

"What the hell is that?" Clara asked, getting to her feet.

"We installed a new security system," Flynn said, hastily setting the decanter down on a Danish dictionary, "after the last break-in."

"So we're now in the middle of a heist!?"

"The fun never stops!" Flynn boomed before taking off like a boomerang.

"So how long will it take for them to get past the elevator?" Clara called, running after him.

"The elevator is actually a magic portal," Flynn called over his shoulder, "and it's been disabled from the inside. Somebody's let them in."

Clara slowed to a halt. "Somebody's sold us out?" she said in disbelief.

Flynn faltered to a stop. "I'm afraid so," he said gravely, advancing on her.

"Hey, it wasn't me!" Clara protested, looking at him like he was mad.

"Why were you hiding in the Reference section, then?" Flynn countered. "Were you keeping a low profile, hunkering down until the storm had passed" -

Clara slapped him, hard.

"Oh, Hartley, how I've missed you!" Flynn cried, before pulling her to him, his mouth crushing hers.

For several long moments, all Clara knew was the sound of cymbals crashing together in her skull, her fingers becoming entangled in Flynn's dark hair. Then she shoved him away from her, staggering as she did so. "Are you _insane!?_" she snapped.

"Yes, I am," Flynn said proudly.

Clara just stared at him incredulously.

"Don't stand there looking like you're working up the nerve to ask me to dance," Flynn exploded, "go and get the others while I get the Crown, and then meet me back in the Reference section."

Clara looked at him for a long moment before catching herself. As she took off amongst the book-shelves, Flynn fondly watched her go, "Ah, Hartley," he said, shaking his head to himself, "you're as mad as a Hatter."

* * *

><p>Clara rounded a tee-pee, only to crash into Cassandra, nearly knocking her down. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," Clara cried, "I've been looking for you everywhere" -<p>

- "Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but we've got work to do," Lamia said, stepping forwards, unsheathing her sword.

"Wait," Cassandra said, grabbing Lamia's arm. "We need her to get the Crown."

"Fine, whatever," Lamia said, shrugging her shoulder, "you all look the same to me."

Cassandra let go of Lamia, only to grab Clara's arm instead, steering Clara forwards as Lamia followed them, her sword raised. "Only a Librarian can remove the Crown from its final resting place," Cassandra explained in an undertone.

"But Flynn said it would kill me if I touched it!" Clara hissed, struggling to compute it had been Cassandra who'd sold them out.

"And Lamia will kill you if you don't," Cassandra pointed out in an agitated whisper.

"Well, it looks like I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place, then," Clara retorted.

"Flynn was lying," Cassandra said pertly, "he just didn't want you leaving your pretty little fingerprints all over his precious Crown."

"What's wrong with my fingerprints?" Clara said incredulously.

"They would mess up the shiny metal," Cassandra said childishly.

"Why can't you get the Crown?" Clara snapped. "You're a Librarian as well!"

"I don't see why I should do all the heavy lifting," Cassandra pouted, "especially with this manicure," she added, holding up a pretty paw.

"Enough with the small talk," Lamia spat, shoving Clara towards the display case, "get me the Crown."

Clara tripped towards where it lay, before suddenly snatching up a metronome and throwing it at Lamia, who just ducked and laughed.

"You can't defeat us with time, little one," she snarled, raising her sword as she advanced on Clara, "not when we have all the time in the world."

Cassandra hastily grabbed the Crown from its red velvet cushion. "Umm, can we go now, please?" she chirped. "I have the Crown, so it's time to toddle."

"After I've dealt with this diminutive problem," Lamia sneered, backing Clara into some book-shelves.

"You promised me nobody would get hurt," Cassandra said, her voice cracking, suddenly a world away from the prancing, pouting Cassandra of before.

"I never promised you I wouldn't kill anyone," Lamia smirked.

"Mind if I cut in?" Flynn queried, appearing out of nowhere.

"Why are you always in my way!?" Lamia spat, whirling on him instead.

"As I said before, you have _such _a magnetic personality," Flynn said, sidestepping her as he stepped in front of Clara. Before anyone could react, Excalibur came flying through the air, Flynn catching it with a flourish of his wrist.

"Oh my God, he has a flying sword!" Cassandra squealed, jumping up and down like a little girl. "That's so _cool!_"

Lamia shot her a withering look, instantly silencing her.

Flynn's gaze fell upon the Crown in Cassandra's hand. "Cassandra... _why?_" he asked, disappointed.

"The Brotherhood said they could save me," Cassandra said, just as suddenly barely able to speak now, "that only magic could save me."

"But serpents lie," Flynn said, suddenly lunging forwards.

But Lamia backtracked, snatching the Crown from Cassandra's hand and placing it atop her own head, twisted triumph descending on her features as a smile snaked its way across her face. "And serpents are swift," Lamia said, her eyes suddenly filled with violet flame. Before Flynn could react, she raised her hand, summoning Excalibur to her own.

"Cal!" Flynn shouted, starting forwards.

With a flick of her wrist, Lamia hurled Excalibur at Flynn like a thunderbolt, Clara throwing herself between Flynn and fate, the sword striking her instead. All of time seemed to slow down, her eyes widening with almost surprise, and then she fell to her knees, Lamia summoning the sword back to her side, Clara's blood running down its blade, trailing a trail over the ground.

"Clara!" Cassandra screamed, rushing forwards.

"It's time to toddle," Lamia said, raising an eyebrow as she restrained Cassandra, before dragging her away.

Flynn just remained rooted to the spot, caught between the Crown and Clara, shock paralysing him.

"Don't just dither, you _dingbat_," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "go and get that goddamn Crown" - Her eyes rolled back into her head, her body suddenly slumping sideways, hitting the ground, Excalibur wreaking his final revenge after all.

_But if the earth ends in fire__  
><em>_And the seas are frozen in time__  
><em>_There'll be just one survivor__  
><em>_The memory that I was yours__  
><em>_And you were mine_


	18. Full Circle

**Author's Note: **In response to Demona Evernight's queries about pairings, it can't be clarified who is or will be with who, as that's part of the plot-line. In response to GiraffePanda2's point, that line regarding Flynn and Clara has been changed to make it clearer.

* * *

><p><strong>Full Circle<strong>

"Clara?" Jacob said stupidly, stopping at the sight of her lying on the floor.

"Get the hell out of my way," Flynn said from between gritted teeth as he barged Jacob aside, dashing over to the bookshelves behind him.

"What the hell happened here!?" Ezekiel demanded as Eve rushed over to Clara, rolling up her sleeves as she moved.

"It was Cassandra," Flynn spat, pulling book after book off the shelf, chucking them over his shoulder, "she let them into the Library."

Nobody said anything, too stunned to speak, just watching the pool of blood swell around Clara's body as Eve frantically worked over her.

"You can't help her!" Flynn bellowed, grabbing a copy of _The Nutcracker_. "It's a magical wound and magical wounds can't be treated!"

"What, so we just let her die then!?" Jacob said, looking like he was going to kill Flynn.

"Get the hell out of my way," Flynn said, barging both Jacob and Eve aside as he flung open _The Nutcracker_, extracting a cut glass vial concealed with its pages, holding it up to the light to see it was still full. "Why is nobody listening to me? Do I just have a face nobody listens to?" he muttered, casting them vengeful glances.

The others retreated to a respectful distance, not answering him, just giving him the space he needed to save Clara - or so they thought. Flynn cast aside _The Nutcracker, _before carefully lifting Clara into his lap, unstoppering the vial before tilting her head back, tipping some drops of the green liquid onto her lips, his face anxious as he waited for the magic to do its magic.

For a moment nothing happened, then Clara jolted back into being, coughing and retching as she collapsed against Flynn, almost throttling him as her fingers clutched his cravat for support.

"Nrngh!" Flynn choked, hastily disentangling himself from her.

Clara tried to curse him, only to burst into tears instead.

"Ssh, it's alright," Flynn soothed as he smoothed back her hair, "you're safe, safe as houses."

Clara slowly raised her head, life leaving her big brown eyes. "Don't-lie-to-me," she spat, clutching her side, "whatever-you-do-,-_don't_-ever-_lie_-to-_me_."

Flynn stared at her, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, sounding most unlike himself. "I won't lie to you, not now."

"What the hell are you banging on about!?" Jacob demanded, exchanging a bewildered glance with Eve and the others. "She's going to be okay now, isn't she?"

"Magical-wounds-can't-heal," Clara said before Flynn could speak, wiping her eyes with the inside of her wrist, "and-cheating-death-comes-at-a-price-,-one-I'm-not-sure-it-would-be-worth-paying-in-the-end."

All the blood drained from Jacob's face, the others looking similarly shell-shocked, making Flynn realise the mistake he'd made in allowing them access to the realm of magic. Despite his words of warning, they believed magic could rectify every wrong, changing every unhappy ending to a fairytale one. But this wasn't once upon a time, this was life as it led to death, and Clara would die, becoming another footnote in the Library's annals, her name nothing but a line in a book nobody would read.

"Well, my lack of faith in humanity is restored," Ezekiel snapped, his voice shaking despite the sarcasm.

"Ha-ha," Clara said with great difficulty.

"Jesus Christ," Eve breathed, turning away from her.

"So she'll die?" Jacob said stupidly to Flynn, unable to comprehend Clara's words. "You really can't do anything?"

"I'm-not-dead-yet," Clara said, "so-talk-to-me-not-Flapjack-Flynn."

Despite himself, Flynn snorted, his eyes bright with tears.

"There has to be something up that elbow-patched sleeve of yours, Flap - Flynn," Jacob said, not taking no for an answer. "For starters, what was in that vial?"

"It contains water from the Well of Healing," Flynn said, his voice cracking, "but as Clara said, magical wounds can't heal, so the most it's done is slow down the bleeding."

"So she's basically doomed, then?" Ezekiel asked, eying Clara oddly.

"Duh," Clara said, rolling her eyes, the small effort of even that making her slump against Flynn.

A church bell suddenly started ringing, followed by another, then another, and another, forming a choir of cacophony, the sound ominous, almost like a warning, making their heads jerk up in tandem.

"Sounds-like-Quasimodo-is-having-a-party," Clara observed, coughing again.

"We have to go," Flynn said, Jacob and Ezekiel rushing forwards to help him get Clara to her feet, only for all four of them to nearly fall flat on their faces as the ground began to violently shake.

"What's going on!?" Eve shouted at Flynn above the din.

"We need to head to the Corridor of Doors!" Flynn yelled, carrying the now half unconscious Clara in his arms bridal-style as he led the way through the book-shelves.

"What-about-the-Vestibule-of-Vagabonds?" Clara said drunkenly. "Vade-mecum!"

"Never mind that, what the hell is that racket?" Jacob bellowed above the pealing bells.

"It's the Countdown Clock!" Flynn bellowed back, only to slow to a stop as the Library started to fold in on itself in front of him, like somebody shutting the pages of a pop-up book.

"_Holy shit_," Ezekiel said, looking like he was going to faint.

"Somebody's-just-cut-the-anchor-chain," Clara said weakly as the book-cases started to close in on them.

* * *

><p>They came to a stop in front of the Corridor of Doors, Clara's head lolling against Flynn's shoulder, dizzily remembering from almost another life how she'd stood before these very same doors, attempting to guess where the Library would lead her, Clara trying to work up the courage to go there. Now she realised all too late that it had all been a lie, the Library deceiving her into death.<p>

"What do we do!?" Eve shouted, clamping her hands over her ears.

"Yeah, Flynn, what do we do!?" Jacob spat sarcastically as Ezekiel hid behind him.

Flynn dithered, the row of doors disorientating him. Behind each one lay everywhere and anywhere. Every time he'd turned a handle, it had taken him away from Clara, and now the Library was taking her away from him, just like he'd known it always would. He'd realised too late what he was running from, Clara's time running out just when he'd stopped running. Without thinking, he booted open the bright blue door that he'd first led Clara through, the others following him, those who came after Clara, fate coming full circle.

As they threw themselves through the doorway, it was only to find they were in a forest, their surroundings serene and silent, luxuriously green and verdant. Then the door suddenly slammed shut, the Library lost once and for all, dividing Flynn from his family, Judson, Charlene, now all gone from him, Clara going with them. Head reeling, he glanced down at Clara, seeing past her pretty face and into the storm that roared within her heart, a storm he never wanted to shelter from. But Clara closed her eyes, trying to hold onto what was left of her, feeling life fall through her fingers. The pain was borderline bearable, but underneath, it was eating away at her, making her pray for a swift end, the end Excalibur had almost delivered.

"Clara, stay with me!" Flynn yelled, setting her on the leaf-strewn ground, shaking her by the shoulders.

"Let-me-sleep," she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut again.

Flynn hesitated before slapping her, hard. The others stared at him, shocked.

"You-bloody-bast" -

- "And that's enough of that," Flynn said smartly, clamping his hand over Clara's mouth.

"She's dying and you just _hit_ her," Ezekiel said, appalled.

"I hit her because she's _dying_," Flynn retorted. "You try keeping a corpse alive with only sweet nothings and a talking candle-stick."

"I'm-not-a-corpse," Clara croaked, grabbing his cravat with feeble fingers, trying and failing to strangle him into silence.

"Not yet," Flynn said flippantly, "and what a beautiful one you'll make."

"Flynn!" Eve exclaimed, her face paling.

"It's time to face facts, my exotic Eve," Flynn said gravely, "Clara is departing this life third class, and there's damn all we can do about it - I can't even wangle her an upgrade with a nod and a wink. It's terrible, it really is."

"Goodnight-Vienna," Clara whispered, sounding drunk again.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Flynn beamed.

"Right, that's enough," Jacob spat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"Uh, where are we?" Ezekiel hastily asked, throwing himself between Flynn and Jacob.

Flynn glanced at the blue door, the sight of it standing there solo slightly incongruous even to his eyes. "_When _are we?" he said, sidestepping the question, his broad brow furrowing in fake fear.

"Oh-God-we've-gone-back-in-time," Clara whined, tightening her grip on Flynn's cravat, "I'm-going-to-die-before-I-was-even-born."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hartley," Flynn snapped, disentangling himself from her weak grip, only for her to slump against him again.

"Is she alright!?" Jacob said, panicking.

"I'm-dying-dufus," Clara spat, glaring at him.

"You've just got blood on my best waist-coat!" Flynn protested, looking extremely put out. "It's all... crimson." He studied his bloodstained fingers in disgust. "You need to eat more calcium," he admonished Clara, shaking a red digit reprovingly at her.

"I'm-Clara-The-Calcium-Kid," she muttered, baring her teeth like fangs at Flynn.

"I don't do vampires," a dour voice said, startling them all.

"Reveal yourself, evil spirit!" Flynn boomed, his voice echoing oddly through the forest glade.

"I don't do exorcists either," the same dour voice said even more dourly. Then a man of indiscriminate middling age stepped out from behind one of the trees, wearing an expensive looking Barbour coat and Wellington boots, looking every inch the landed gentleman except for his loud bow-tie and immaculately starched white shirt. He smoothed back his longish silver hair with a weary hand, studying the group with surprisingly dark eyes.

"Hello," Flynn said slowly, brow furrowing for real this time. "And who might you be? A wandering dryad perhaps?"

"Do I look like Napea to you?" the stranger retorted.

"I don't know," Flynn said, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm not the one gliding through a glade here."

"What are you doing out here?" Eve asked, stepping forwards.

"Waiting," the stranger said simply. "I do that."

"Waiting for what?" Jacob said, rolling his shirt-sleeves even higher, throwing off Ezekiel's restraining hand.

"I'm waiting for Zeus," the stranger said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I like dallying with ancient Graeco-Roman deities. It's something of a hobby of mine."

"Snap!" Flynn exclaimed, beaming again.

"Kill-me-now," Clara groaned.

* * *

><p><em>Skipping down a broken path<em>  
><em>How long can I last? Please let me know, oh<em>  
><em>Where's the finish line?<em>  
><em>'Cause I got to find somewhere to go<em>

_I don't know why I try to run_  
><em>But I keep on coming back full circle<em>  
><em>And I can't jump the track<em>  
><em>Can't let you go<em>

_I'll keep on running till we meet in the middle_  
><em>I'll put right aside and I'll give just a little<em>  
><em>There's miles to go but we both know that we'll make it<em>

_And I know I try to run_  
><em>But I keep on coming back full circle<em>  
><em>And I can't jump the track<em>  
><em>Can't let you go...<em>

Somehow the group found themselves in the stranger's station-wagon, Flynn humming a hymn under his breath, praying Clara would find the courage to hold on until he could figure out a way to save her. During the drive, her hand had found his large one, gripping it for dear life as death tried to drag her under, drowning no longer a dream but a reality. Flynn could barely feel his fingers but he didn't care, he only cared about keeping Clara alive.

"Where are we?" Ezekiel asked, sounding like a broken record as they drew up outside a large low-roofed grey stone building situated on a riverbank.

"Curiosity killed the cat," the stranger observed darkly, killing the engine.

They all piled out of the station-wagon, Flynn carrying Clara in his arms again, her hair falling across her face, obscuring it from sight, Jacob anxiously hovering at his heels like an over enthusiastic bridesmaid. Eve and Ezekiel flanked them on either side as the stranger led the way to a set of double doors, their scarred metal surface doing nothing to soothe their frazzled nerves. He pushed the doors open, sunlight streaming past him into the dark passage, illuminating the steep staircase below, striking the cobwebs hanging from various corners, making them glimmer oddly as though they were encrusted with diamonds instead of long dead flies.

"Why are we here?" Flynn asked, carefully navigating his way down the steps.

"Why are _you_ here?" the stranger said, turning the question back onto him.

"How did you know to find us in the forest?" Flynn flung back, suspicion rising in him.

"I know all about you, Flynn Carsen," the stranger said strangely.

"I don't understand," Flynn said, brow furrowing again, "who are you? What is this place?"

"I'm Jenkins, of course," the stranger said, sounding surprised, "and as for this place..." He led them down another dark passage before flinging open a set of double doors structured out of clouded glass and ornate ironwork, part of the pattern consisting of a sword on each side, almost like an emblem of sorts. He stepped forwards, clicking his fingers together, the library wing suddenly becoming flooded with light. "This is the Library," Jenkins said dourly, clasping his hands behind his back.

They all stared at him, incredulous and disbelieving, Clara burying her face in Flynn's shoulder.

"But the Library is gone," Flynn said, his voice cracking.

"Obviously you've been misinformed," Jenkins said, raising his bushy eyebrows.


	19. Born To Die

**Born To Die**

"Misinformed?" Eve said, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.

Jenkins shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I should invite you in," he said, "but like I said before, I don't do vampires." He shot a nervous glance at Clara who still had her face buried in Flynn's shoulder.

"She's not a vampire," Flynn said with great difficulty, "and I should know," he said more to himself than anyone else, his thoughts flickering to the past, remembering Simone and one last sunset.

"What's with all the blood, then?" Jenkins asked suspiciously.

"Excalibur," Flynn said bluntly, not brooking further explanation.

Jenkins did a double-take before catching himself. "Ah," he said oddly, his gaze dwelling on the back of Clara's brown head. "Excalibur."

"Yes, Excalibur," Flynn echoed, frowning now.

Jenkins shook his head slightly, as though trying to clear it. "Well, come in then," Jenkins then said, theatrically flourishing his hands in a parody of a welcoming host. "Make yourselves at home."

But as soon as Flynn stepped foot over the threshold, _Killer Queen _started playing at full blast, startling them all, none more so than Jenkins who almost jumped about ten feet in the air.

"What the hell is wrong with you people!?" Jacob hurled up at the vaulted ceiling, reminding Flynn of himself for a moment.

"You don't exactly look like a Queen fan," Ezekiel yelled at Jenkins above the music.

"I'm not!" Jenkins bellowed, scuttling up the sweeping staircase. "I - I've just been experimenting with the stereo system that's all!"

"Mum?" Clara asked childishly, raising her head. "Is that you?"

"We're losing her," Eve said, clearing the desk, which started protesting on cue. "Oh, some things never change, do they!?" Eve exclaimed, flinging up her hands as Flynn laid Clara down on the desk, trying and almost failing to stop her from rolling off it.

"This can't be the Library," Flynn said, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow. "The Library is gone, all of it - Judson, Charlene" -

- "But this is your desk, isn't it?" Eve snapped. "The same talking desk that's got an obsession with Jacob's ass, yeah?"

"The one and the only," the desk said dourly, sounding uncannily like Jenkins.

"I don't have a fat ass!" Jacob protested, the music thankfully stopping as he spoke.

"Yes, you do," the desk retorted. "It's blocking out the sun as we speak" -

- "So this is the Library, then," Eve cut across the desk, clipping Ezekiel around the back of the head as he slipped a gem encrusted paperweight into his pocket. "This is not the right time, Fagin!" she admonished, forcing him to hand it over.

"It's the Library Annex," Jenkins said, coming up the side of them, looking extremely put out, "not the library wing - they're two completely different things and she's getting blood all over my books!"

"That's Flynn's desk though," Eve argued.

"How well observed," Jenkins said witheringly. "You're losing your touch, boy," he fired at Flynn.

Flynn just gaped at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Jacob demanded as _Killer Queen _started playing again.

Jenkins just ignored him. "This is an annex, dear, not an abattoir," Jenkins said to Clara as he rolled her onto her back, only to freeze at the sight of her bloodless face, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. Aside from the offhand remarks about vampires, Jenkins had barely afforded Clara the most basic of perfunctory glances, treating her as he did Eve and the others, almost completely below his notice, Flynn his main focus. But not anymore, he only had eyes for Clara, eyes that were almost bulging out of his head.

"Are you alright, mate?" Ezekiel asked, sounding worried against his will.

"Is this your idea of a joke!?" Jenkins yelled up at the vaulted ceiling. "If it is, I have to say it's in the most questionable taste!"

The music just became louder, as though turned up by an invisible hand.

"Oh, I get it, I get it," Jenkins shouted, shaking his fist at the walls, "I'm down with all your modern popular culture references, I know what they mean!"

"We don't know what you mean," Ezekiel pointed out, trying to pocket a fountain pen, only for Eve to smack his hand away.

"_Gwenhwyfar ferch Ogrfan Gawr/Drwg yn fechan, gwaeth yn fawr_," Jenkins whispered to Clara, completely ignoring Ezekiel and the others, her empty eyes seeming to glimmer with an odd recognition at his words.

"Gwenhwyfar, daughter of Ogrfan Gawr/Bad when little, worse when great," Clara said with surprising clarity, her voice taking on a sly edge that hadn't existed before.

"And you are little," Jenkins said, his voice cracking, "not just in height, but in all other ways."

Clara just smiled at him, a smile that frightened Flynn, reminding him of a serpent, and then her eyes rolled back into her head, her body slumping into stillness. Jenkins stared at her, looking torn between hate and pity.

"Do something!" Jacob yelled, grabbing the shell-shocked Flynn by the throat. "Save her!"

"You can't save her," Jenkins said coldly, "and it's better that you don't."

They all just stared at him, Jacob letting Flynn go, only for Flynn to collapse down beside Clara, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders heaving as a terrible sob escaped his throat.

Eve looked at Flynn for a long moment, struggling with her own desires and dislikes. "She saved Flynn," Eve then said, stepping forwards, her voice shaking, "so for God's sake, save her."

"That's her job though," Jenkins said, shrugging his shoulders even as he sound surprised, "to take a bullet for the Librarian - or a blade in this case. It's got a nice symmetry to it," he observed, studying Clara, "almost a poetic justice, you might say."

"She's not his Guardian," Eve said, bewildered, "I am."

"Then where were you when he needed you most?" Jenkins asked her, appalled.

Eve just stood there, speechless.

Judson studied her, looking like he was struggling with himself. Before anybody could react, he stalked over to some kind of filing system by the far wall, pulling out one of the small drawers and examining the index cards inside, muttering to himself as he did so. "Get me that volume of the _Welsh Triads,_" Jenkins suddenly snapped, snapping his fingers at Jacob, "and you over there, the one with the shifty eyes, get me anything by Monmouth," he fired at Ezekiel, who took off, trying to scan the book-shelves with an eagle eye as opposed to a shifty one.

"Can you save her, then?" Eve asked, tentative hope unfurling in her pale face, her words making Flynn raise his head from his arms.

"I can buy her some more time," Jenkins said reluctantly, "but that's it."

"That's all we need," Flynn said quietly, his voice cracking, "some time."

"Some of us have too much time," Jenkins said cryptically, before turning and walking away.

* * *

><p>Flynn paused by the book-shelf, gripping it for support as he studied Clara curled up in the corner, her head bent over a book, her hair falling past her face, obscuring it from sight. After Jenkins had conjured up some kind of concoction, forcing it between her blueing lips, she'd been uglily brought back to life, vomiting all over Jenkins's shining shoes.<p>

Eve had cleaned her up; changing her clothes for her, trying to pretend everything was alright, a lie Clara had refused to subscribe to, slipping off to be by herself amongst her beloved books away from the others. They had just left her alone, sensing she needed her own space, some time to herself to adjust to the idea she was dying - or so they thought.

Clara had made her peace with death, but not with life. She'd accepted her end, that the Library had lied and led her to it. Life was not hers, and it never had been, not really. It had always been coming to this, a blade baptised with her blood, and she'd stalwartly submitted to her fate, even as Flynn fought it, like he was fighting it now, trying to hold onto what was long lost.

"Come with me," Jenkins said quietly, taking Flynn by the elbow, steering him away from Clara. "We need to talk, boy."

Flynn submitted, too dazed for anything else.

"You see it, don't you?" Jenkins said as they moved. "The storm within her, a storm that doesn't make sense."

Flynn nodded, swallowing hard.

"The Library doubts her," Jenkins said, forcing Flynn to sit down, "because she doubts herself. She doesn't know where she belongs."

"The Library is gone" -

- "The Library is here" -

- "If it doubts her, why is _she_ here?" Flynn said with great difficulty as Jenkins sat down opposite him. "One minute the Library was keeping her at arms' length, the next it was all but embracing her - _why?_"

Jenkins shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever it is, whether we like it or not, the Library brought her into the fold," Jenkins said dourly, "and we just have to accept its decree," he said, glaring up at the ceiling.

"What does it matter anyways?" Flynn said, running his hand down his face. "The Library's gone, Clara's dying and the Serpent Brotherhood has Excalibur and the Crown."

"The Library isn't gone!" Jenkins exploded. "It's here!"

"How can it be!?"

"The Main Library can only ever be anchored to one specific place in the world," Jenkins said against his will. "For example, what happened if the Librarian needed to gain access to the Library's knowledge but was far from the front door? So therefore we have this, the Annex."

"This is just an interface though," Flynn said, sounding like he didn't really care.

"Judson ran the Main Library while I was here in the Annex," Jenkins said as though he was addressing an imbecile, "it's all separate but _connected_."

Flynn just looked at him.

"The truth is, Judson has cut the connection to the physical world," Jenkins then said tiredly, suddenly looking very old, "and this room is all we have, with access to the information but with no way in or out of the Main Library."

"Why didn't you want to help her?" Flynn said suddenly, leaning forwards. "What was all that stuff about Ogrfan Gawr and the music?"

"You should be asking why I helped her," Jenkins said, scowling at him.

"Why?"

"Why is your nose so big?" Jenkins said, sidestepping the question. "Why is Judson so goddamn rash?"

"Hey, watch your tone when you speak about Judson" -

- "Judson and I have never agreed on anything," Jenkins spat, "especially when it came to the Library. He liked the glamour when I didn't - to cut a long story short, the Library's best used for research, not for gallivanting about, seducing princesses" -

- "I've never seduced a princess in my life," Flynn said in disbelief.

"What about a queen?" Jenkins said, his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

* * *

><p>"You should have seen it coming," Clara said without looking up from her book.<p>

"I know," Flynn said, sitting down beside her, "then it would have been - it _should _have been me in your place."

"I'm not talking about Excalibur," Clara snapped. "I'm talking about Cassie. They had leverage on her, and you should have seen that."

Flynn looked down at his palms for a moment, as if he could hold back death with his bare hands. "I should have seen all of it," he said, his voice cracking, "and now you're dying because I didn't see, because I wasn't good enough" -

- "_You're _not good enough?" Clara scoffed, finally looking at him. "You're the Librarian, Flynn - the rest of us, we're just pretenders to your throne. If anyone wasn't good enough, it was me. If I wasn't wearing the wrong shoes, I was falling down rabbit holes - now look at me, I got a sword stuck in my side, and for what? The Crown is AWOL and you've gone on a guilt-trip like it's a honeymoon in Hawaii."

Flynn just sighed heavily, running his hand down the side of his face.

"I thought the Library was lost," Clara said, looking around her, not really caring anymore.

"It is and it isn't," Flynn said abruptly.

"Why did you kiss me?" Clara asked just abruptly.

"Because you grew on me," Flynn snapped.

"What, like a wart? Like a verruca?"

"Like moss?" Flynn suggested helpfully.

Clara snorted.

"It seemed... it seemed like a good idea at the time, okay?" Flynn said, his voice cracking.

"Well, it seems like a bad idea now," Clara said clippedly.

"You didn't exactly seem to find my amorous advances repulsive," Flynn said caustically.

"You caught me offguard," Clara retorted.

This time Flynn snorted.

"I'm dying, Flynn," Clara then said tiredly, "so it would have never worked out anyways."

"So you think it might have?" Flynn said slowly, avoiding looking at her.

"You're nuts," Clara said, shrugging her shoulders, "and sometimes I hate you."

"That's not an answer."

"Christ on a cracker," Clara exclaimed. "It's always got to be about you, doesn't it? The Flynn Carsen Freak Show" -

- "Would we have worked out or not, Clara!?" Flynn demanded.

"Not unless you're into necrophilia," Clara said before she could stop herself, taking a savage satisfaction in making Flynn flinch.

"Alright, that's enough," he spat, standing up, his stomach turning.

"You're enough," Clara said, slamming her book shut.

"And I've had enough," Flynn flung back, "I'm going to get that goddamn Crown, so do whatever the hell you want. Die, live - see if I care."

_Come on take a walk on the wild side_  
><em>Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain<em>  
><em>You like your girls insane<em>  
><em>Choose your last words, this is the last time<em>  
><em>Cause you and I, we were born to die...<em>


End file.
